H 


SMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


4 


1.0 


I.I 


in  1.25 


HI 


H!  134 


12.2 

■     u 

IIIIIM 

1.4  mil  1.6 


;  i 


<^ 


w 


/, 


'/ 


/A 


Hiotographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


33  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

WIBSTiR.N.Y.  M5S0 

(716)  S72-4S03 


^V 


iV 


<> 


1^ 


^  >.  -^rv\ 


■i  ' 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


C 


^ 


Tschnical  and  Bibliographic  Notaa/Notaa  tachniquas  at  bibiiographiquaa 


Tha  Inatituta  haa  attamptad  to  obtain  tha  baat 
originai  copy  availabia  for  fiiming.  Faaturas  of  thia 
copy  which  may  ba  bibiiographicaily  uniqua. 
which  may  altar  any  of  tha  imagaa  in  tha 
raproduction,  or  which  may  aignif  icantly  changa 
tha  uauai  mathod  of  fiiming,  ara  chaclcad  baiow. 


D 


Colourad  covara/ 
Couvartura  da  coulaur 


|~n   Covara  damagad/ 


0 


D 


D 


□ 


Couvartura  andommag4a 

Covara  raatorad  and/or  iaminatad/ 
Couvartura  raataurAa  at/ou  paiiicul4a 

Covar  titia  miaaing/ 

La  titra  da  couvartura  manqua 


I     I   Coiourad  mapa/ 


Cartaa  gAographiquaa  an  couiaur 

Coiourad  inlc  (l.a.  othar  than  biua  or  biacic)/ 
Encra  da  coulaur  (i.a.  autra  qua  biaua  ou  noira) 


□   Coiourad  plataa  and/or  illuatratlona/ 
Planchaa  at/ou  illuatratlona  an  coulaur 

□    Bound  with  othar  matarlal/ 
Rail*  avac  d'autraa  documanta 


Tight  binding  may  cauaa  shadowa  or  diatortlon 
along  intarior  margin/ 

La  raiiura  sarrAa  paut  cauaar  da  I'ombra  ou  da  la 
diatortlon  la  long  da  la  marga  intiriaura 

Blank  laavaa  addad  during  raatoration  may 
appaar  within  tha  taxt.  Whanavar  poaaibla.  thaaa 
hava  baan  omittad  from  filming/ 
II  sa  paut  qua  cartalnaa  pagaa  blanchaa  ajoutiaa 
lora  d'una  rastauration  apparaiaaant  dana  la  taxta, 
mala,  loraqua  cala  Atait  poaaibla,  caa  pagaa  n'ont 
pas  «t«  film«as. 

Additional  commants:/ 
Commantairai  supplimantairaa; 


L'Inatitut  a  microfilm*  la  maillaur  axamplaira 
qu'il  lui  9  4t4  poaaibla  da  aa  procurar.  Laa  ditaila 
da  cat  axamplaira  qui  aont  paut-Atra  uniquaa  du 
point  da  vua  bibliographiqua,  qui  pauvant  modiflar 
una  imaga  raproduita,  ou  qui  pauvant  axigar  una 
modification  dana  la  mithoda  normala  da  fiimaga 
aont  indiquia  ci-daaaoua. 


D 
D 
D 
0 
D 
0 
D 
D 
D 


This  itam  is  filmad  at  tha  raduction  ratio  chaukad  balow/ 

Ca  documant  ast  film*  au  taux  da  reduction  indiqu*  ci-dassous. 


Coiourad  pagaa/ 
Pagaa  da  coulaur 

Pagaa  damagad/ 
Pagaa  andommagtaa 

Pagaa  raatorad  and/or  Iaminatad/ 
Pagaa  raataurAaa  at/ou  pallicultea 

Pagaa  diacolourad,  atalnad  or  foxad/ 
Pagaa  dicolortea.  tachattaa  ou  piquAaa 

Pagaa  datachad/ 
Pagaa  d^tachtaa 

Showthrough/ 
Tranaparanca 

Quality  of  print  varias/ 
Qualit*  InAgaia  da  I'impraaalon 

Includaa  aupplamantary  matarlal/ 
Comprand  du  matirlal  auppUmantaIra 

Only  adition  availabia/ 
Saula  Adition  diaponibia 

Pagas  wholly  or  partially  obscurad  by  arrata 
alipa,  tissuaa.  ate,  hava  baan  rafilmad  to 
anaura  tha  baat  poaaibla  imaga/ 
Laa  pagaa  totalamant  ou  partiallamant 
obacurciaa  par  un  fauillat  d'arrata,  una  palura. 
ate,  ont  AtA  fiimias  A  nouvaau  da  fapon  A 
obtanir  la  maillaura  imaga  possibla. 


10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

30X 

• 

12X 

lex 

20X 

24X 

28X 

32X 

Th«  copy  filmed  here  has  b««n  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  off: 

Nationai  Library  of  Canada 


L'exempiaire  ffilmA  ffut  reproduit  grAce  A  la 
gdnArositA  de: 

BibliothAque  nationale  du  Canada 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
off  the  original  copy  and  in  Itueping  with  the 
ffilming  contract  speciffications. 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  AtA  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soln,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  at 
de  la  nettet6  de  l'exempiaire  ffiimi,  et  en 
confformitA  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  bacic  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  ffilmed  beginning  on  the 
ffirst  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  Impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  lest  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  fframe  on  each  microffiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  —^'  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Les  exemplalres  origlnaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
pepier  est  imprimie  sont  ffilmte  en  commengant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
derniAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration.  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  salon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplalres 
origlnaux  sont  ffllmte  en  commen^ant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  sulvants  apparaitra  sur  la 
derniAre  image  de  cheque  microffiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  — »-  signiffie  "A  SUIVRE",  ie 
symbols  V  signiffie  "FIN". 


IMaps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  ffilmed  at 
difffferent  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  ffilmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  lefft  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diegrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  Atre 
ffilmAs  A  des  taux  de  rMuction  diffff6rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichA,  II  est  ffilmA  A  partir 
de  I'angle  supArieur  gauche,  de  gauche  A  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  has,  en  prenant  ie  nombre 
d'images  nAcessalre.  Les  diagrammes  sulvants 
iiiustrent  la  mAthode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

A 


s^/^ 


0 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG 


(LE    CHIEN     D'OR) 


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■     -•  >  '••A-«>.<«>M»M'>"i**«'-'« 


THE  GOLDEN    DOG 


(LE   CHIEN   D'OR) 


^  Eomance  of  t^e  Hags  of  ILouts  <Slm\\}t 
in  (i^ueiiec 


BY 

WILLIAM    KIRBY,  F.  R.S.C. 


ILLUSTRATED 


BOSTON 

L.   C.   PA(.l      ^M  'MPANY 

(incorporated) 

1897 


/  <5^7  7  ^ 


254958 


Copyright,  i8g6 
By  Joseph  Knight  Company 

Copyrii::ht,  iSgj  ' 
By  L.  C.  Pagk  and  Company 
(incorporathd) 


Al 

To    THE    Pl 

In  the  ye 

( Le  Chien 

tirely   withe 

inadequacy 

powerless    t 

understand 

taking  for  i 

ing  gone  thi 

It  was,  CO 

I   was  appr( 

Hoston,  witl 

re-puljlish  it 

which  I  hav( 

development 

only  edition 

approval  of  i 


Colonial  ^reiss 

C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co.,  Boston.  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


J 


AUTHOR'S    PREFATORY    NOTE. 


']\i   THE    PUIU.IC  : 

In  the  year  1S77  the  first  edition  of  "The  (iolden  Dog" 
(I.e  Chien  d'Or)  was  brought  out  in  the  I'nited  States,  en- 
tirely without  my  knowledge  or  sanction.  Owing  to  the 
inadequacy  of  the  then  existing  copyright  laws,  1  have  been 
powerless  to  prevent  its  continued  publication,  which  I 
untlerstand  to  have  been  a  successful  and  profitable  under- 
taking for  all  concerned,  except  the  author,  the  book  hav- 
ing gone  through  many  editions. 

It  was,  consequently,  a  source  of  gratification  to  me  when 
I  was  approached  by  Messrs.  L.  C.  Page  \:  Company,  of 
boston,  with  a  request  to  revise  "The  (Jolden  Dog,"  and 
re-publish  it  through  them.  The  result  is  the  present  edition, 
which  1  have  corrected  and  revised  in  the  light  of  the  latest 
developments  in  the  history  of  Quebec,  and  which  is  the 
only  edition  offered  to  my  readers  with  the  sanction  and 
approval  of  its  author. 

William    Kirby. 

Niagara,  Canada,  May,  iSgy. 


CHAPTER 

I. 

II. 

r 

III. 

1 

IV. 

( 

V. 

r 

VI. 

1 

VII. 

•- 

VIII. 

c 

IX. 

I 

X. 

I 

XI. 

1 

XII. 

'I 

XIII. 

n 

XIV. 

1 

XV. 

1 

XVI. 

/ 

XVII. 

s 

XVIII. 

1 

XIX. 

1 

xx. 

1 

XXI. 

s 

XXII. 

s 

XXIII. 

.s 

XXIV. 

T 

XXV. 

li 

XXVI. 

1 

XXVII. 

c 

XXVIII. 

A 

CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

I.  Men  of  the  Old  Regime  . 

II.  The  Walls  of  Quehec 

III.  A  Chatelalxe  of  New  France 

IV.  Confidences 
V.  The  Itinerant  Notary 

VI.  Beaumanoir  .... 

VII.  The  Intendant  Bigot 

VIII.  Caroline  de  St.  Castin 

IX.  Pierre  Philirert 

X.  Amelie  de   ReI'ENTIGNY 

XI.  The  Soldier's  Welcome     . 

XII.  The  Castle  of  St.  Louis  . 

XIII.  The  Chien  d'Or  . 

XIV.  The  Council  of  War 
XV.  The  Charming  Josephine   . 

XVI.     An(;elique  des  Meloises    . 
XVII.     Splendide  Mendax 
XVIII.     The  Merovingian   Princess 
XLK.     Put  Money  in  Thy   Purse 
Jelmont        .... 
Sic  Itur  ad  Astra 
So  Clozkd  the  Tempter    . 
Seals  of  Love,  p.ut  Sealed  in  Vain 
The  Hurriei    Question  of  DESPAnt 
Betwixt  the  Last  Violet  and  ihe  IOar 

LiEST   Rose 

The  Canadian  Boat  SoN(i 

Cheerful    Yesterdays    and    C()nfm)Eni 

To-morrows 

A  Day  at  the  Manor  House   . 


XX.     I 

XXI. 

XXII. 
XX 11 1. 
XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 
XXVII, 

XXVIII. 


PAGE 

1 1 

21 

26 

46 

59 
66 

<So 

93 
100 

107 

120 

'31 

'45 

'57 

170 

184 

200 

20S 

220 

229 

244 

254 

262 

272 
2.S3 

297 
30O 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

XXIX. 
XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 
XXXIII. 
XXXIV. 

XXXV. 

XXXVI. 

XXXVII. 

XXXVIII. 

XXXIX. 

XL. 

XLI. 

XLII. 

XLI  1 1. 

XLIV. 

XLV. 

XLVI. 

XLVII. 

XLVIII. 

XLIX. 
L. 

LI. 

LII. 

LIIL 

LIV. 


Felices  Ter  et  Amplius    .        .        .        . 
"  No  Speech  of  Silk  Will  Serve  Your 

Turn"       

The  Ball  at  the  Intend  ant's  Palace 
"  On  with  the  Dance  "... 

La  Corkiveau 

Weird  Sisters 

<'  Flaskets    of    Drugs,    Full    to    Their 

Wicki:d  Lips  " 

The  Hkoad,  Black  Oatewav  of  a  Lie 

Arrival  of  Pierre  Philihert  . 

A  Wild  Night  Indoors  and  Out     . 

M/:re  Malheur 

Quoth  the  Raven,  "  Nevermore  !  " 

A  Deed  Without  a  Name 

"  Let's  Talk  of  Graves  and  Worms  ani 

Epitaphs  " 

Silk  Gloves  Over  Bloody  Hands   . 

The  Intexdant's  Dilemma 

"  I  Will  Feed  Fat  the  Ancient  Gruixh 

I  Bear  Him" 

The  Bourgeois  Philihert 

A  Drawn  Game   

"  In  Gold  Clasps  Locks  in  the  Golden 

Story "      

The  Market-place  on  St.  Martin's  Day 
"  Blessed    They    Who    Die    D()iN(i    Thy 

Will" 

Evil  News  Rides  Post 

The  Lamp  of  Rei'Entigny  . 

"Lovely  in  Death  the  Beauteous  Ruin 

Lay 

"  The  Mills  of  God  Grind  Slowly  " 


I'ACiH 

350 

359 
381 

393 

400 

411 

417    1 
430 

450 
458 

469 
489 
512 

122 
53- 
544 

552 
560 

566 
584 
59  • 

607 
61C 


LI 


Angelique 
A  Groui'  oi- 
Arrival  of 
quehec  fko 
Marquise  d 
An(;klique  ; 
Count  de  l 
"Shic  Pressi 
I)i:ath  of  t 
Marouis  of 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Angelique  and  Amef-ie 

A  Okoup  of  Hamitans 

AUKIVAL    OF    I'lEKKE    1'HIL1I5EKT 

(JL'EliEC    FROM    PoiNT    LEVIS         .... 

Marquise  de  Pompadour         .... 

AxCiEMQUE    AND    HiGOT    IN    Till-:    (IARDEN 

Count  de  la  ('iALissf)NiEKE     .... 

"Siiic  Pressed  the  (w.owinc;  Fi,o\ve|[<s  to  Hi:r   I.ii's"  462 

Death  of  the  Piourgeois 573 

Marquis  of  Montcalm ^>i''^ 


PACK 

Front  I 

spiccc 

22 

S.; 

129 

I.S4 

345 

402 

TH 


SEE  Nr 

finder  lateen 
Its  waters  tli 
then,  Count. 
;\er  ! '  Kten 
lovely  scene  - 
V.dcn,  and  tl 
risiii-r." 


i'luis  excla 
kves  sparklini 
rieir  Peter  h 
(oiiiore,  (lovei 

l)astion  of  1 
|7l'S. 

A  ,i,noup  of 

[nifornis  of  L 

Jk'y  converse( 

|t   the  foot  o) 

tendance   up 

ii>>  niorninf^  t( 

^i'  citizens  of 

Juntry,  who  h 

t-'fences  of  the 


THE   GOLDEN    DOG. 


(LE    CHIEiN    D'OK.) 


CHAPTER    I. 


MEN    OV    THK    OI.l)    RKGIME. 


f' '  ^  EE  Naples,  and  then  die  !  '  That  was  a  proud  say- 
I  ,i^  ing,  C'ount,  which  we  used  to  hear  as  we  cruised 
Imder  lateen  sails  about  the  glorious  bay  that  reflects  from 
lis  waters  tiie  fires  of  Vesuvius.  We  believed  the  boast 
tlien,  Count.  But  I  say  now,  '  See  (Quebec,  and  live  for- 
;\er  ! '  Eternity  would  he  too  short  to  weary  me  of  this 
|()vely  scene  —  this  bright  Canadian  morning  is  worthy  of 
K.dcn,   and   the  glorious   landscape   worthy  of   such  a  sun- 

ising." 

Thus  exclaimed  a  tall,  fair  Swedish   gentleman,  his  blue 
iyes  sparkling,  and  every  feature  glowing  with  enthusiasm, 

lerr    Peter    Kalm,   to   His    Excellency    Count  de  la  (ialis- 
^inicre.  Governor  of  New  JM-ance,  as  ihey  stood  together  on 
hastion  of  the  ramparts  of  (Quebec,  in  the  year  of  grace 

A  group  of   l''rencii  and  Canadian  officers,  in  the  military 

iniforms  of  Louis  X\\,   stood   leaning  on  their  swords,  as 

liey  conversed  gaily  together  on  the  broad  gravelled  walk 

It   the  foot   of   the   rampart.      They    formed    the    suite    in 

|tlcndance   upon    the   Governor,    who    was    out    by   sunrise 

is  morning  to  inspect  the  work  done  during  the  night  by 

H'  citizens  of  (,)uebec  and   the  habitans  of  the  surrounding 

pmitry,  who  had  been  hastily  summoned  to  labor  upon  the 

efences  of  the  city. 

It 


12 


THE    (.OLDEN    DOG. 


I 


A  few  ecclesiastics,  in  l)lack  cassocks,  dignitaries  of  the 
Church,  niin<j;le(l  cheerfully  in  the  conversation  of  the  of- 
ficers. They  had  accompanied  the  (iovernor,  both  to  show 
their  res])ect,  and  to  encourage,  by  their  presence  and 
exhortations,  the  zeal  of  the  colonists  in  the  work  of  forti- 
fying the  cajiital. 

War  was  then  raging  between  old  Kngland  and  old 
P'rance,  and  between  New  iMigland  and  New  P'rance.  The 
vast  region  of  North  America,  stretching  far  into  the  interior 
and  southwest  from  ('anada  to  Louisiana,  had  for  three 
years  past  been  the  scene  of  fierce  hostilities  between  the 
rival  nations,  while  the  savage  Indian  tribes,  ranged  on 
the  one  side  and  on  the  other,  steeped  their  moccasins  in 
the  blood  of  I'rench  and  I'.nglish  colonists,  who,  in  their 
turn,  became  as  fierce,  and  carried  on  the  war  as  relentlessly. 
as  the  sa\ages  themselves. 

TA)uisl)ouig,  the  bulwark  of  New  P'rance,  projecting  its 
mailed  arm  boldly  into  the  Atlantic,  had  been  cut  off  by  the 
Kngiish,  who  now  overran  Acadia,  and  began  to  threaten 
Quebec  with  invasion  by  sea  and  land.  IJusy  rumors  (  l 
approaching  danger  were  rife  in  the  colony,  and  the  gallan; 
(Iovernor  issued  orders,  which  were  enthusiastically  obeyed, 
for  the  people  to  prcjceed  to  the  walls  and  place  the  city  in  a 
state  of  defence,  to  bid  defiance  to  the  enemy. 

RoUand  Michel  Harrin,  C'oimt  de  la  (lalissoniere,  wa^ 
remarkable  no  less  for  his  jihilosophical  attainments,  that  ': 
ranked  him  hi^li  anu)iig  the  saxans  of  the  l'"rench  Academw  ■ 
than  for  his  political  abilities  and  foresight  as  a  statesman 
lie  felt  strongly  the  vital  interests  involved  in  the  present  s 
war,  and  saw  clearly  what  was  the  sole  |K)licy  necessary  for  ■ 
b'rance  to  ado]U  in  order  to  preserve  her  magnificent  domin  i 
ion  in  North  America.  Ills  counsels  were  neither  liked  no 
followed  by  the  (Ourt  of  Versailles,  then  sinking  fast  inti 
the   slough  of  corruption   that  marked  the  closing  years  o 


th 


e  reign  of   Louis 


XV. 


ID 


Among  the  peoi)le  who  admired  deeds  more  than  word 
the  Count  was  honored  as  a  brave  and  skilful  admiral,  wl 
had  borne  the  Hag  of  h'rance  triumphantly  over  the  seas. 
and  in  the  face  of  her  most  powerful  enemies       the   iMiglisli 
and  Dutch.      His  memorable  rejmlse  of  Admiral  Ijyng,  eight 
years   after   the  events  here   recorded,    -  which   led  to   tin 


death  of  tha 
sentence  of 
glory  to  Vvc 
sorrow  for  tl 
as  a  cruel  : 
usually  as  ; 
siderate. 

The  Gov^ 
had  entered 
with  snow  tl 
active.     Nat 
pilious  houi 
had  seated  a 
of  stature,  a 
eves,  lumiiK 
everything  ii 
cination   the 
discover  upt 
|)(uu"ed    out 
noble  sentim 
his  listeners 
and  the  cleat 

lie  was  v 
friend,  Peter 
\isii  in  New 
at  Upsal  and 
that,  like  goo 

Herr  Kali 
lo\ely  lantlsc 
iresh  enthusi 

"  Dear  K; 
'if  his  frienc 
shoulder,  "  y 
sat  together 
ma>ter,  and 
woiks  ;  and  \ 
(lod  for  pern 
see  the  preci( 

"Till  men 
fully  realize  I 
is  a  land  wor 


MEN    OK    TlIK    OI.I)     KKdlMK. 


13 


death  of  that  brave  and  unfortunate  officer,  who  was  shot  by 
sentence  of  court  martial  to  atone  for  tliat  repulse,  —  was  a 
glory  to  I'Vance,  but  to  the  Count  brought  after  it  a  manly 
sorrow  for  the  fate  of  his  opponent,  whose  death  he  regarded 
as  a  cruel  and  unjust,  act,  unworthy  of  the  English  nation, 
usually  as  generous  and  merciful  as  it  is  brave  and  con- 
siderate. 

The  Governor  was  already  well-advanced  in  years.  He- 
had  entered  upon  the  winter  of  life,  that  sprinkles  the  head 
with  snow  that  never  melts,  but  he  was  still  hale,  rutldy,  and 
active.  Nature  had,  indeed,  moulded  him  in  an  unpro- 
pilious  hour  for  personal  comeliness,  but  in  comjiensation 
IkuI  seated  a  great  heart  and  a  graceful  miml  in  a  body  low 
of  stature,  and  marked  by  a  slight  deformity.  His  piercing 
eyes,  luminous  with  intelligence  and  full  of  sympathy  for 
everything  noble  and  elevated,  overpowered  with  their  fas- 
cination the  blemishes  that  a  too  curious  scrutiny  might 
discover  upon  his  figure  ;  while  his  mobile,  handsome  lips 
poured  out  the  natural  elocpience  of  clear  thoughts  and 
ii()l)le  sentiments.  'I'he  Count  grew  great  while  speaking: 
his  listeners  were  carried  away  by  the  magic  of  his  voice 
and  the  clearness  of  his  intellect. 

He  was  very  happy  this  morning  by  the  side  of  his  old 
friend,  Peter  Ralm,  who  was  paying  him  a  most  welcome 
\isit  in  New  I'rance.  They  had  been  fellow  students,  both 
al  Ifpsal  and  at  Paris,  ami  loved  each  other  with  a  cordiality 
that,  like  good  wine,  grew  richer  and  more  generous  with  age. 

Herr  Kalm,  strelciiing  out  his  arms  as  if  to  embrace  the 
lo\ely  landscape  and  clasp  it  to  his  bosom,  exclaimed  with 
Iresh  enthusiasm,  "  See  (Juel>ec,  and  live  forever!" 

"Dear  Kalm,"  said  the  (u)vernor.  catching  the  fervor 
'if  his  friend,  as  he  rested  his  hand  al'teclionately  on  his 
shoulder,  "you  are  as  true  a  lover  of  nature  as  wiieii  we 
.^al  together  at  the  feet  of  Linn;i,'us,  our  glorious  young 
master,  and  heard  him  open  up  for  us  the  iriui/hr  of  (lofl's 
works  ;  and  wi'  used  to  feel  like  him,  too,  when  he  thanked 
Cod  for  permitting  him  to  look  into  his  treasure-hou:,j  and 
^ee  the  precious  things  of  creation  which  lie  had  made." 

"Till  men  see  (Quebec,'"  replieil  Kalm.  "they  will  not 
fully  realize  the  meaning  of  the  term,  'God's  footstool.'  It 
is  a  land  worth  livin<r  for  !  " 


14 


TIIK    (iOI.DKN     !)()(;. 


"  Not  only  a  land  to  live  for,  but  a  land  to  die  for,  and 
happy  the  man  who  dies  for  it!  Confess,  Kaiin,  —  thon 
who  hast  travelled  in  all  lands,  think'st  thou  not  it  is 
indeed  worthy  of  its  proud  title  of  New  France?" 

"It  is  indeed  worthy,"  replied  Kalm  ;  "I  see  here  a 
scion  of  the  old  oak  of  the  Gauls,  which,  if  let  j^row,  will 
shelter  the  throne  of  France  itself  in  an  empire  wider  than 
Ca,'sar  wrested  from  Ambiotrix." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Count,  kindlins^;  at  the  words  of  his 
friend,  "it  is  old  France  transplanted,  transfii^ured,  and 
glorified,  -  where  her  lanp;uaL;e,  relij^ion,  and  laws  shall  be 
handetl  down  to  her  posterity,  the  jjjlory  of  North  America 
as  the  mother-land  is  the  glory  of  Europe !  " 

I'he  enthusiastic  (ralissoniere  stretched  out  his  hands  and 
implored  a  blessini;  upon  the  land  entrusted  to  his  keeping. 

It  was  a  glorious  morning.  The  sun  had  just  risen  over 
the  hilltops  of  Lauzon,  throwing  aside  his  drapery  of  gold, 
purple,  and  crimson.  The  soft  haze  of  the  summer  morn- 
ing was  floating  away  into  nothingness,  leaving  every  object 
fresh  with  dew  and  magnified  in  the  limpid  purity  of  the 
air. 

The  broad  St.  Lawrence,  far  beneath  their  feet,  was  still 
partially  veiled  in  a  thin  blue  mist,  pierced  here  and  there 
by  the  tall  m;ist  of  a  King's  ship  or  merchantman  lying 
unseen  at  anchor ;  or,  as  the  fog  rolled  slowly  off,  a  swift 
canoe  might  be  seen  shooting  out  into  a  streak  of  sun- 
shine, with  the  first  news  of  the  morning  from  the  south 
shore. 

liehind  the  Count  and  his  companions  rose  the  white 
glistening  walls  of  the  Hotel  Dieu,  and  farther  off  the  tall 
tower  of  the  newly-restored  Cathedral,  the  belfry  of  the 
RecoUets,  and  the  roofs  of  the  ancient  C'ollege  of  the  Jesuits. 
An  avenue  of  old  oaks  and  maples  shaded  the  walk,  and  in 
the  branches  of  the  trees  a  swarm  of  birds  rtuttered  and 
sang,  as  if  in  rivalry  with  the  gay  French  talk  and  laughter 
of  the  group  of  officers,  who  waited  the  return  of  the  Gov- 
ernor from  the  bastion  where  he  stood,  showing  the  glories 
of  (,)uebec  to  his  friend. 

The  walls  of  the  city  ran  along  the  edge  of  the  cliff 
upwards  as  they  approached  the  broad  gallery  and  massive 
front  of  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  and  ascending  the  green 


MKN    OF    THK    OLD     KK(;iMK, 


15 


slope  of  the  broad  glacis,  culiiiinaled  in  the  lofty  citadel, 
where,  streaming  in  the  morning  breeze,  radiant  in  the 
sunshine,  and  alone  in  the  blue  sky,  waved  the  white  ban- 
ner of  France,  the  s'<^ht  of  which  sent  a  thrill  of  joy  and 
pride  into  the  hearts  of  her  faithful  subjects  in  the  New 
World. 

'['he  broad  bay  lay  before  them,  round  as  a  shield,  and 
glittering  like  a  mirror  as  the  mist  blew  off  it:,  surface, 
behind  the  sunny  slopes  of  Orleans,  which  the  river  en- 
circled in  its  arms  like  a  giant  lover  :iis  fair  mistress,  rose 
the  bold,  dark  crests  of  the  Laurentides,  lifting  their  bare 
sununits  far  away  along  the  course  of  the  ancient  river, 
leaving  imagination  to  wander  over  the  wild  .scenery  in  their 
midst  — the  woods,  glens,  and  unknown  lakes  and  rivers 
that  lay  hid  far  from  human  ken,  or  known  only  to  rude 
savages,  wild  as  the  beasts  of  chase  they  hunted  in  those 
strange  regions. 

Across  the  broad  valley  of  the  St.  Charles,  covered  with 
u,reen  fields  and  ripening  harvests,  and  dotted  with  quaint 
old  homesteads,  redolent  with  memories  of  Normandy  and 
iirittany,  rose  a  long  mountain  ridge  covered  with  priaieval 
woods,  on  the  slope  of  which  rose  the  glittering  spire  of 
Cliarlebourg,  once  a  dangerous  outpost  of  civilization.  The 
pastoral  Lairet  was  seen  mingling  its  waters  with  the  St. 
Charles  in  a  little  bay  that  preserves  the  name  of  Jacques 
("artier,  who  with  his  hardy  companions  spent  tiieir  first 
winter  in  Canada  on  this  spot,  the  guests  of  the  hosp.  le 
Donacana,  lord  of  Quebec  and  of  all  the  lands  .seen  iiom 
its  lofty  cape. 

Directly  beneath  the  feet  of  the  CJovernor,  on  a  broad 
strip  of  land  that  lay  between  the  beach  and  the  precipice, 
stood  the  many-gabled  Palace  of  the  Intendant,  the  most 
magnificent  structure  in  New  iMance.  Its  long  front  of 
eight  hundred  feet  overlooked  the  royal  terraces  and  gar- 
dens, and  beyond  these  the  quays  and  magazines,  where 
lay  the  ships  of  Bordeaux,  St.  Malo,  and  Havre,  unload- 
ing the  merchandise  and  lu.xuries  of  France  in  exchange 
for  the  more  rude,  but  not  less  valuable,  products  of  the 
( "olony. 

between  the  Palace  and  the  15asse  Ville  the  waves  at  high 
tide  washed  over  a  shingly  beach  where  there  were  already 


\( 


THK  fior.DKN  nor,. 


the  beginnings  of  a  street.  A  few  rude  inns  clisplajed  the 
sign  of  the  jlcnr-dc-Hs  or  th^  imposing  head  of  Louis  XV. 
Kound  the  doors  of  these  inns  in  summer-time  might  always 
be  found  groups  of  loquacious  Iheton  and  Norman  sailors  in 
red  cajjs  and  sashe.s,  voyageurs  and  canoemen  from  the  far 
West  in  lu.it  Indian  costume,  drinking  Gascon  wine  and  Nor- 
man cider,  or  the  still  more  potent  liquors  filled  with  the 
fires  of  the  Antilles.  The  liatture  kindled  into  life  on  the 
arrival  of  the  Meet  from  home,  and  in  the  evenings  of  sum- 
mer, as  the  sun  set  behind  the  Cote  a  IJonhomme,  the 
natural  nuignelism  of  companionship  drew  the  lasses  of 
(Quebec  down  to  the  beach,  where,  amid  old  refrains  of 
French  ditties  and  the  music  of  violins  and  tambours  de 
IJascjue,  they  danced  on  the  green  with  the  jovial  sailors  who 
brought  news  from  the  old  land  beyond  the  Atlantic. 

"  Pardon  me,  gentlemeii,  for  keeping  you  waiting,"  said 
the  Governor,  as  he  descended  from  the  bastion  and  rejoined 
his  suite.  *'  I  am  so  proud  of  our  beautiful  ()uebec  that  I 
can  scarcely  stop  showing  off  its  charms  to  my  friend  Herr 
Kalm,  who  knows  so  well  how  to  appreciate  them.  lUit,  " 
continued  he,  looking  round  admiringly  on  the  bands  ol 
citizens  and  habitans  who  were  at  work  strengthening  every 
weak  point  in  the  fortifications,  "  my  brave  Canadians  arc 
busy  as  beavers  on  their  dam.  'JMiey  are  determined  to  keep 
the  saucy  English  out  of  Quebec.  They  deserve  to  have  the 
beaver  for  their  crest,  industrious  fellows  that  they  are !  i 
am  sorry  I  kept  you  waiting,  however." 

"  We  can  never  count  the  moments  lost  which  your 
Excellency  gives  to  the  survey  of  our  fair  land,"  replied 
the  liishop,  a  grave,  earnest-looking  man.  "  Would  that 
His  Majesty  himself  could  stand  on  these  walls  and  see 
with  his  own  eyes,  as  you  do,  this  splendid  patrimony  of 
the  crown  of  France.  He  would  not  dream  of  bartering  il 
away  in  exchange  for  petty  ends  and  corners  of  Germany 
and  I'^landers,  as  is  rumored,  my  Lord." 

"  True  words  and  good,  my  Lord  I>ishop,"  replied  the 
Governor ;  "  the  retention  of  all  Manders  now  in  the  strong 
hands  of  the  Marshal  de  Saxe  would  be  a  poor  compensa- 
tion for  the  surrender  of  a  glorious  land  like  this  to  the 
English." 

F'lying    rumors    of    some    such    proposal   on   the   part  of 


Mi:\    OF    TIIIC    OI.I)    RKcilMK. 


17 


I'lance  had  reached  the  Colony,  with  wild  reports  arising 
out  of  the  endless  chaffering  between  the  negotiators  for 
peace,  who  had  already  assend)led  at  Aix  la  Chapelle.  "  The 
fate  of  America  will  one  day  be  decided  here,"  continued 
the  Governor ;  *'  I  see  it  written  upon  this  rock,  '  Whoever 
rules  Quel)ec  will  sway  the  destinies  of  the  continent.'  May 
our  noble  France  be  wise,  and  understand  in  time  the  signs 
of  empire  and  of  supremacy  !  " 

The  Jiishop  lookeil  upwards  with  a  sigh.  "Our  noble 
!•  ranee  has  not  vet  read  those  tokens,  or  she  misunder- 
stands  them.  Oh,  these  faithful  subjects  of  hers !  Look 
at  them,  your  Kxcellency."  The  Bishop  |)ointed  toward  the 
crowd  of  citizens  hard  at  work  on  the  walls.  "There  is  not 
a  man  of  them  but  is  ready  to  risk  life  and  fortune  for  the 
honor  antl  dominion  of  France,  and  yet  they  are  treated  by 
the  Court  with  such  neglect,  and  burdened  with  exactions 
that  take  from  life  the  sweet  reward  of  labor  !  They  cannot 
do  the  impossible  that  France  retpiires  of  them  —  tight  her 
battles,  till  her  fields,  and  see  their  bread  taken  from  them 
hv  these  new  ordinances  of  the  Intendant." 

"  Well,  my  Lord,"  replied  the  Governor,  affecting  a  jocu- 
larity he  did  not  feel,  for  he  knew  how  true  were  the  words 
of  the  ]iishop,  "we  must  all  do  our  duty,  nevertheless:  if 
l-'rance  requires  impossibilities  of  us,  we  must  perform  them  ! 
'I'hat  is  the  old  spirit !  If  the  skies  fall  upon  our  heads,  we 
must,  like  true  Gauls,  hold  them  up  on  the  points  of  our 
lances  !  What  say  you,  Rigaud  de  Vaudreuil  ?  Cannot 
one  Canadian  surround  ten  New  Flnglanders  ? "  The  Gov- 
ernor alluded  to  an  exploit  of  the  gallant  officer  whom  he 
turned  to  addres.s. 

"  Probatum  csf,  your  FAcellency  !  I  once  with  six  hun- 
dred Canadians  surrounded  all  New  England.  Prayers 
were  put  up  in  all  the  churches  of  Doston  for  deliverance 
when  we  swept  the  Connecticut  from  end  to  end  with  a 
broom  of  fire." 

"  Brave  Rigaud !  France  has  too  few  like  you !  "  re- 
marked the  Governor  with  a  look  of  admiration. 

Rigaud  bowed,  and  shook  his  head  modestly.  "  I  trust  she 
has  ten  thousand  better;"  but  added,  pointing  at  his  fellow- 
officers  who  stood  conversing  at  a  short  distance,  "  Marshal 
de  Saxe  has  few  the  equals  of  these  in  his  camp,  my  Lord 


l8 


TIIH    (iOLDKN     DOG. 


Count !  '"  And  well  wus  the  conipliincnl  deserved :  they 
were  j^alhint  men,  intellij^ent  in  looks,  polished  in  inanners. 
and  brave  to  a  fault,  and  all  full  of  that  natural  gaiety  thai 
sits  so  gracefully  on  a  French  soldier. 

Most  of  them  wore  the  laced  coat  and  waistcoat,  chapeau, 
boots,  lace  ruffles,  sash,  and  rapier  of  the  period  —  a  martial 
costume  befitting  brave  and  handsome  men.  Their  names 
were  household  words  in  every  cottage  in  New  France,  and 
many  of  them  as  frequently  spoken  of  in  the  English  Colonies 
as  in  the  streets  of  Quebec. 

There  stood  the  Chevalier  de  ]>eaujeu,  a  gentleman  of 
Norman  family,  who  was  already  famed  upon  the  frontier, 
and  who,  seven  years  later,  in  the  forests  of  the  Mononga- 
hela,  crowned  a  life  of  honor  by  a  soldier's  death  on  the 
bloody  field  won  from  the  unfortunate  IJraddock,  defeating 
an  army  ten  times  more  numerous  than  his  own. 

Talking  gayly  with  I)e  Beaujeu  were  two  gallant-looking 
young  men  of  a  Canadian  family  which,  out  of  seven  brothers, 
lost  six  slain  in  the  service  of  their  King  —  Jumonville  dc 
Villiers,  who  was  afterwards,  in  defiance  of  a  flag  of  truce, 
shot  down  by  order  of  Colonel  Washington,  in  the  far-off 
forests  of  the  Alleghenies,  and  his  brother,  Coulon  de 
Villiers,  who  'received  the  sword  of  Washington  when  he 
surrendered  himself  and  garrison  prisoners  of  war,  at  Fori 
Necessity,  in  1754. 

Coulon  de  Villiers  imposed  ignominious  conditions  of 
surrender  upon  Washington,  but  scorned  to  take  other  re- 
venge for  the  death  of  his  brother.  He  spared  the  life  of 
Washington,  who  lived  to  become  the  leader  and  idol  of  his 
nation,  which,  but  for  the  magnanimity  of  the  noble  Canadian, 
might  have  never  struggled  into  independence. 

There  stood  also  the  Sieur  de  Lery,  the  King's  engineer, 
charged  with  the  fortification  of  the  Colony,  a  man  of  Vau 
ban's  genius  in  the  art  of  defence.  Had  the  schemes  which 
he  projected,  and  vainly  urged  upon  the  heedless  Court  of 
Versailles,  been  carried  into  effect,  the  conquest  of  New 
France  would  have  been  an  impossibility. 

Arm  in  arm  with  De  Lery,  in  earnest  conversation,  walked 
the  handsome  Claude  de  Keauharnais,  —  brother  of  a  former 
Governor  of  the  Colony,  —  a  graceful,  gallant-looking  soldier. 
Ue  Beauharnais  was  the  ancestor  of  a  vigorous  and  beautiful 


race,  among 
harnais,  who 
Canada  upon 
abandonment 
of  Hourbon. 

Conspicuoi 
straight  figun 
Corne  St.  J^uc 
exposure  to 
was  fresh  fro 
France,  indee 
full  sheaf  of 
capture  of  ar 
soldier  was 
versed  with 
bishop  of  Qi 
the  Recollets. 

The  fJishof 
sionate  lover  ( 
Knglish  broke 
announcement 

Father  de  ] 
and  sandals  of 
iMance  for  hh 
been  a  soldiei 
uniform,  with 
Ikit  the  |.eopl 
never  lackod 
sayings  furnisl 
and  laughter, 
which  the  Rec 

Father  Glap 
piinied  the  15 
oddly  with  the 
a  meditative,  1 
others  than  to 
around  him. 
reigned  betwe( 
but  the  Super 
other  the  mutu 

The  long  lir 


MKN    OK    TMK    OLD    KKCilMK. 


19 


r;ict',  among  whose  posterity  was  the  fair  Ilortense  de  lieau- 
iiamais,  who  in  her  son,  Napoleon  III.,  seated  an  offshoot  of 
Canada  upon  the  imperial  throne  of  France  long  after  the 
abandonment  of  their  ancient  colony  by  the  corrupt  House 
of  Bourbon. 

Conspicuous  among  the  distinguished  officers  by  his  tall, 
straight  figure  and  quick  movements,  was  the  Chevalier  La 
Corne  St.  Luc,  supple  as  an  Indian,  and  almost  as  dark,  from 
exposure  to  the  weatiier  and  incessant  campaigning.  He 
was  fresh  from  the  blood  and  desolation  of  Acadia,  where 
France,  indeed,  lost  her  ancient  colony,  but  St.  Luc  reaped  a 
full  sheaf  of  glory  at  Grand  Pre,  in  the  Uay  of  Minas,  by  the 
ca|)lure  of  an  army  of  New  Englanders.  The  rough  old 
soldier  was  just  now  al!  smiles  and  gaiety,  as  he  con- 
versed with  Monseigneur  de  i'ontbriant,  the  venerable 
IJishop  of  Quebec,  and  Father  de  IJerey,  the  Superior  of 
the  Recollets. 

The  IJishop,  a  wise  ruler  of  his  Church,  was  also  a  pas- 
sionate lover  of  his  country  :  the  surrender  of  (Quebec  to  the 
English  broke  his  heart,  and  he  died  a  few  months  after  the 
announcement  of  the  final  cession  of  the  Colony. 

Father  de  IJerey,  a  jovial  monk,  wearing  the  gray  gown 
and  sandals  of  the  Recollets,  was  renowned  throughout  New 
1^'rance  for  his  wit  more  than  for  his  piety.  He  had  once 
been  a  soldier,  and  he  wore  his  gown,  as  he  had  worn  his 
uniform,  with  the  gallant  bearing  of  a  King's  Guardsman. 
Hut  the  i^eople  loved  him  all  the  more  for  his  jests,  which 
never  lacked  the  accompaniment  of  genuine  charity.  His 
sayings  furnished  all  New  France  with  daily  food  for  mirth 
and  laughter,  without  detracting  an  iota  of  the  respect  in 
which  the  Recollets  were  held  throughout  the  colony. 

Father  Glapion,  the  Superior  of  the  Jesuits,  also  accom- 
panied the  IJishop.  His  close,  black  soutane  contrasted 
oddly  with  the  gray,  loose  gown  of  the  Recollet.  He  was 
a  meditative,  taciturn  man,  —  seeming  rather  to  watch  the 
others  than  to  join  in  the  lively  conversation  that  went  on 
around  him.  Anything  but  cordiality  and  brotherly  love 
reigned  between  the  Jesuits  and  the  Order  of  St.  Francis, 
but  the  Superiors  were  too  wary  to  manifest  towards  each 
other  the  mutual  jealousies  of  their  subordinates. 

The  long  line  of  fortifications  presented  a  stirring  appear- 


20 


TIIK    (i()M>Ki\     I)<)(i. 


ance  that  morning.  The  watch-fires  that  had  ilhiminated 
the  scene  during  the  night  were  dying  out,  the  red  embers 
paling  under  the  rays  of  the  rising  sun.  From  a  wide  circle 
surrounding  the  city  the  people  had  come  in  —  many  were 
accompanied  by  their  wives  and  daughters  -  to  assist  in 
making  the  bulwark  of  the  Colony  impregnable  against  the 
rumored  attack  of  the  English. 

The  people  of  New  France,  taught  by  a  hundred  years 
of  almost  constant  warfare  with  the  English  and  with  the 
savage  nations  on  their  frontiers,  saw  as  clearly  as  the  Gov- 
ernor that  the  kev  of  French  dominion  hung  inside  the  walls 
of  ()uebec,  and  that  for  an  enemy  to  grasp  it  was  to  lose  all 
they  valued  as  subjects  of  the  Crown  of  France. 


CHAPTER    II. 


THE    WALLS    OF    QUE15EC. 


COUNT  DE  LA  GALISSONlftRE,  accompanied  by 
his  distinguished  attendants,  proceeded  again  on  their 
round  of  inspection.  They  were  everywhere  saluted  with 
heads  uncovered,  and  welcomed  by  hearty  greetings.  The 
people  of  New  1^'rance  had  lost  none  of  the  natural  polite- 
ness and  ease  of  their  ancestors,  and,  as  every  gentleman  of 
the  Governor's  suite  was  at  once  recognized,  a  conversation, 
friendly  even  to  familiarity,  ensued  between  them  and  the 
citizens  and  habitans,  who  worked  as  if  they  were  building 
their  very  souls  into  the  walls  of  the  old  city. 

"Good  morning,  Sieur  de  St.  Denis!"  gaily  exclaimed 
the  Governor  to  a  tall,  courtly  gentleman,  who  was  super- 
intending the  labor  of  a  body  of  his  ccnsitaires  from  Beau- 
port.  " '  Many  hands  make  light  work,'  says  the  proverb. 
That  splendid  battery  you  are  just  finishing  deserves  to  be 
called  iJeauport.  What  say  you,  my  Lord  iiishop  ? "  turn- 
ing to  the  smiling  ecclesiastic.  "  Is  it  not  worthy  of  bap- 
tism ? " 

"  Yes,  and  blessing  both  ;  T  give  it  my  episcopal  benedic- 
tion," replied  the  Bishop,  "and  truly  I  think  most  of  the 
I'arth  of  it  is  taken  from  the  consecrated  ground  of  the  Hotel 
I  )ieu  -     it  will  stand  lire  !  " 

"  Many  thanks,  my  Lord  !  "  the  Sieur  de  St.  Denis  bowed 
\ery  low  —  "where  the  Church  bars  the  door  Satan  will 
never  enter,  nor  the  English  either!  Do  you  hear,  men?" 
continued  he,  turning  to  his  (V7/.\/A///v'.v,  "  my  Lord  Bishop 
I  luistens  our  battery  Beauport,  and  says  it  will  stand  lire!" 

"  /'/yr  k  IloI  r"  was  the  response,  an  exclamation  that 
( ame  spontaneously  to  the  lips  of  all  Erenchmen  on  every 
emergency  of  danger  or  emotion  of  joy. 

A  sturdy  habitan  came  forward,  and  doinng  his  red  tuque 
or  cap,  addressed  the  Governor:  " 'I'his  is  a  good  battery, 

21 


22 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


my  Lord  Governor,  but  there  ought  to  be  one  as  good  in  our 
village.  Permit  us  to  build  one  and  man  it,  and  we  promise 
your  Excellency  that  no  Englishman  shall  ever  get  into  the 
back  door  of  Quebec  while  we  have  lives  to  defend  it.'' 
The  old  habitan  had  the  eye  of  a  soldier  —  he  had  lieen  one. 
The  Governor  knew  the  value  of  the  suggestion,  and  at  once 
assented  to  it,  adding,  "  No  better  defenders  of  the  city 
could  be  found  anywhere  than  the  brave  habitans  of 
Beauport." 

The  compliment  was  never  forgotten ;  and  years  after- 
wards, when  Wolfe  besieged  the  city,  the  batteries  of  Beau- 
port  repelled  the  assault  of  his  bravest  troops,  and  well-nigh 
broke  the  heart  of  the  young  hero  over  the  threatened  defeat 
of  his  great  undertaking,  as  his  brave  Highlanders  and 
grenadiers  lay  slain  by  hundreds  upon  the  beach  of  Beau- 
port. 

The  countenances  of  the  hardy  workers  \  ore  suddenly 
covered  with  smiles  of  welcome  recognition  at  the  sight  of 
the  well-known  Superior  of  the  Recollets. 

"  Good  morning  !  "  cried  out  a  score  of  voices  ;  "  good 
morning.  Father  de  Herey !  The  good  wives  of  ISeauport 
send  you  a  thousand  compliments.  They  are  dying  to  see 
the  good  Recollets  down  our  way  again.  The  Gray 
Brothers  have  forsaken  our  parish." 

"  Ah  ! "  replied  the  Superior,  in  a  tone  of  mock  severity, 
while  his  eyes  overran  with  mirthfulness,  "  you  are  a  crowd 
of  miserable  sinners  who  will  die  without  benefit  of  clergy 
—  only  you  don't  know  it!  Who  was  it  boiled  the  Easter 
eggs  hard  as  agates,  which  you  gave  to  my  poor  brother 
kecollets  for  the  use  of  our  convent  ?  'I'ell  me  that,  pray  ! 
All  the  salts  and  senna  in  (Quebec  have  not  sufficed  to 
restore  the  digestion  of  my  poor  monks  since  you  phiyetl 
that  trick  upon  them  down  in  your  misnamed  village  ot 
Beauport !  " 

"Pardon,  Reverend  Father  de  I'erey!"  replied  a  smiling 
habitan,  "  it  was  not  we,  but  the  sacrilegious  canaille  of  St. 
Anne  who  boiled  the  Easter  eggs  !  If  you  don't  believe  us, 
send  some  of  the  good  (iray  Friars  down  to  try  our  love. 
See  if  they  do  not  find  everything  soft  for  them  at  Heauport, 
from  our  hearts  to  our  feather  beds,  to  say  nothing  of  our 
eggs    and  bacon.     Our  good  wives  are  fairly  melting  with 


A   OROUI'   OK    HAItlTANS. 


longing  for  a 

more  in  our  \ 

"Ohl  I  d£ 

dogs  like  you 

The  habits 

some   crossec 

others,  who  s 

"Oh!"  coi 

of  the  conve 

spit  for  him, 

he  has  to  cs 

kitchen  !    but. 

to  work  now  ( 

no  pay ! " 

The  men  tc 

spokesman,  b( 

all  the  same,  j 

be  soft  as  lar 

ing  for  the  Ei 

fine  morning  1 

"Ah,  well, 

played  upon  } 

blessing,  too,  c 

to  cure  our  fi; 

stale  just  now 

A  general 

Superior  went 

the  Governor, 

line  of  fortifier 

Near  the  gji 

encouraging  h 

party  of  habil 

and  still   beai 

the  Lordship, 

niece,  in  the  1 

the  fair   Amel 

panied  her  ai 

Seigniory  of  T 

To  features 

Parian  marble 

in  those  perfec 


THE    WALLS    OF    QUEBEC. 


33 


longing  for  a  sight  of  the  gray  gowns  of  St.  Francis  once 
more  in  our  village." 

"  Oh  1  I  dare  be  bound  the  canaille  of  St.  Anne  are  lost 
dogs  like  yourselves  —  catuli  catiilorumr 

The  habitans  thought  this  sounded  like  a  doxology,  and 
some  crossed  themselves,  amid  the  dubious  laughter  of 
others,  who  suspected  Father  de  Berey  of  a  clerical  jest. 

"  Oh  1 "  continued  he,  "  if  fat  Father  Ambrose,  the  cook 
of  the  convent,  only  had  you,  one  at  a  time,  to  turn  the 
spit  for  him,  in  place  of  the  poor  dogs  of  Quebec,  which 
he  has  to  catch  as  best  he  can,  and  set  to  work  in  his 
kitchen  !  but,  vagabonds  that  you  are,  you  are  rarely  set 
to  work  now  on  the  King's  corvte — all  work,  little  play,  and 
no  pay  ! " 

The  men  took  his  raillery  in  excellent  part,  and  one,  their 
spokesman,  bowing  low  to  the  Superior,  said,  —  "  Forgive  us 
all  the  same,  good  Father.  The  hard  eggs  of  Beauport  will 
be  soft  as  lard  compared  with  the  iron  shells  we  are  prepar- 
ing for  the  English  breakfast  when  they  shall  appear  some 
fine  morning  before  Quebec." 

"  Ah,  well,  in  that,  case  I  must  pardon  the  trick  you 
played  upon  Brothers  Mark  and  Alexis  ;  and  I  give  you  my 
blessing,  too,  on  condition  you  send  some  salt  to  our  convent 
to  cure  our  fish,  and  save  your  reputations,  which  are  very 
stale  just  now  among  my  good  Recollets." 

A  general  laugh  followed  this  sally,  and  the  Reverend 
Superior  went  off  merrily,  as  he  hastened  to  catch  up  with 
the  Governor,  who  had  moved  on  to  another  point  in  the 
line  of  fortifications. 

Near  the  gate  of  St.  John  they  found  a  couple  of  ladies, 
encouraging  by  their  presence  and  kind  words  a  numerous 
party  of  habitans,— one  an  elderly  lady  of  noble  bearing 
and  still  beautiful,  the  rich  and  powerful  feudal  Lady  of 
the  Lordship,  or  Seigniory,  of  Tilly ;  the  other  her  orphan 
niece,  in  the  bloom  of  youth,  and  of  surpassing  loveliness, 
the  fair  Amelie  de  Repentigny,  who  had  loyally  accom- 
panied her  aunt  to  the  capital  with  all  the  men  of  the 
Seigniory  of  Tilly,  to  assist  in  the  completion  of  its  defences. 

To  features  which  looked  as  if  chiselled  out  of  the  purest 
Parian  marble,  just  flushed  with  the  glow  of  morn,  and  cut 
in  those  perfect  lines  of  proportion  which  nature  only  bestows 


24 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


on  a  few  chosen  favorites  at  intervals  to  show  the  possibili- 
ties of  feminine  beauty,  Ame'lie  de  Repentigny  added  a 
figure  which,  in  its  perfect  symmetry,  looked  smaller  than  it 
really  was,  for  she  was  a  tall  girl  :  it  filled  the  eye  and  held 
fast  the  fancy  with  the  charms  of  a  thousand  graces  as  she 
moved  or  stood,  suggestive  of  the  beauty  of  a  tame  fawn, 
that  in  all  its  movements  preserves  somewhat  of  the  coyness 
and  easy  grace  of  its  free  life. 

Her  hair  was  very  dark  and  thick,  matching  her  deep 
liquid  eyes,  that  lay  for  the  most  part  so  quietly  and  rest- 
fully  beneath  their  long  shading  lashes,  —  eyes  gentle,  frank, 
and  modest,  looking  tenderly  on  all  things  innocent,  fear- 
lessly on  all  things  harmful  ;  eyes  that  nevertheless  noted 
every  change  of  your  countenance,  and  read  unerringly  your 
meaning  more  from  your  looks  than  from  your  words. 
Nothing  seemed  to  hide  itself  from  that  pure,  searching 
glance  when  she  chose  Lo  look  at  you. 

In  their  depths  you  might  read  the  tokens  of  a  rare 
and  noble  character — a  capability  of  loving  which,  once 
enkindled  by  a  worthy  object,  might  make  all  things  that 
are  possible  to  devoted  womanhood  possible  to  this  woman, 
who  would  not  count  her  life  an)thing  either  for  the  man  she 
loved  or  the  cause  she  espoused.  Amelie  de  Repentigny 
will  not  yield  her  heart  without  her  judgment;  but  when  she 
does,  it  will  be  a  royal  gift  —  never  to  be  recalled,  never  to 
be  repented  of,  to  the  end  of  her  life.  Happy  the  man  upon 
whom  she  shall  bestow  her  affection  !  It  will  be  his  forever. 
Unhappy  all  others  who  may  love  her!  She  may  pity,  but 
she  will  listen  to  no  voice  but  the  one  which  rules  her 
heart,  to  her  life's  end  ! 

JJoth  ladies  were  in  mourning,  yet  dressed  with  elegant 
simplicity,  befitting  their  rank  and  joosition  in  society.  The 
Chevalier  Le  (lardeur  de  Tilly  had  fallen  two  years  ago, 
fighting  gallantly  for  his  King  and  country,  leaving  a  child- 
less widow  to  manage  his  vast  domain  and  succeed  him  as 
sole  guardian  of  their  orphan  niece,  Amelie  de  Repentigny, 
and  her  brother  Le  (rardeur,  left  in  infancy  to  the  care  of 
their  noble  relatives,  who  in  every  respect  treated  them  as 
their  own,  and  who  indeed  were  the  legal  inheritors  of  the 
Lordship  of  Tilly. 

Only  a  year  ago,  Amelie  had  left  the  ancient  Convent  of 


I  the  Ursulinej 

ments  taught 

Ide  ri ncarnatil 

France,  generj 

according  to  l] 

I  the  learning  ol 

former,  never.l 

i  succeeding  tin| 

impress  of  pc 

people  of   Cai| 

Of  all   the 
I  honors  on  the 
had    only  beei 
Meioises  —  tw 
ments,  but  unl 
of  their  lives  r 
widely  differen 
The  brothel 
her  elder  by  a 
some,  brave,  g 
not   free    from' 
among  the  yoi 
who  in  dress, 
hrilliant,  dissol 
Amelie  passi 
not  without  su 
herself  to  his  1 
her  solitary  mi 
invested  him   ' 
possess ;  and  t 
wiiispered  in  h 


THE    WALLS    OF    QUEBEC. 


25 


the  Ursulines,  perfected  in  all  the  graces  and  accomplish- 
ments taught  in  the  famous  cloister  founded  by  Mere  Marie 
de  rincarnation  for  the  education  of  the  daughters  of  New 
Fiance,  generation  after  generation  of  whom  were  trained, 
according  to  her  precepts,  in  graces  of  manner  as  well  as  in 
the  learning  of  the  age  —  the  latter  might  be  forgotten;  the 
former,  never.  As  they  became  the  wives  and  mothers  of 
succeeding  times,  they  have  left  upon  their  descendants  an 
impress  of  politeness  and  urbanity  that  distinguishes  the 
people  of   Canada  to  this  day. 

Of  all  the  crowd  of  fair,  eager  aspirants  contending  for 
honors  on  the  day  of  examination  in  the  great  school,  crowns 
JKul  only  been  awarded  to  Amclie  and  to  Angelique  des 
Meloises  —  two  girls  equal  in  beauty,  grace,  and  accomplish- 
lUL'iUs,  but  unlike  in  character  and  in  destiny.  The  currents 
of  their  lives  ran  smoothly  together  at  the  beginning.  How 
widelv  different  was  to  be  the  entling  of  them  ! 

The  brother  of  Amelie,  Le  (iardeur  de  Repentigny,  was 
her  elder  by  a  year  —  an  otticer  in  the  King's  service,  hand- 
some, brave,  generous,  devoted  to  his  sister  and  aunt,  but 
not  free  from  some  of  the  vices  of  the  times  prevalent 
among  the  young  men  of  rank  and  fortune  in  the  colony, 
who  in  dress,  luxury,  and  inuuorality,  strove  to  imitate  the 
brilliant,  dissolute  Court  of  Louis  XV. 

Amelie  passionately  loved  her  brother,  and  endeavored  — 
not  without  success,  as  is  the  way  with  women  —  to  blind 
herself  to  his  faults.  She  saw  him  seldom,  however,  and  in 
her  solitary  musings  in  the  far-off  Manor  Mouse  of  'I'illy,  she 
invested  him  with  all  the  perfections  he  did  and  did  not 
possess;  and  turned  a  deaf,  almost  an  angry  ear,  to  tales 
whispered  in  his  disparagement. 


CHAPTER   III. 


A    CHATELAINE   OF    NEW    FRANCE. 


THE  Governor  was  surprised  and  delighted  to  encounter 
Lady  de  Tilly  and  her  fair  niece,  both  of  whom  were 
well  known  to  and  highly  esteemed  by  him.  He  and  the 
gentlemen  of  his  suite  saluted  them  with  profound  respect, 
not  unmingled  with  chivalrous  admiration  for  noble,  high- 
spirited  women. 

"  My  honored  Lady  de  Tilly  and  Mademoiselle  de 
Repentigny,"  said  the  Governor,  hat  in  hand,  "  welcome 
to  Quebec.  It  does  not  surprise,  but  it  does  delight  me 
beyond  measure  to  meet  you  here  at  the  head  of  your  loyal 
ccnsitaires.  But  it  is  not  the  first  time  that  the  ladies  of  the 
House  of  Tilly  have  turned  out  to  defend  the  King's  forts 
against  his  enemies." 

This  he  said  in  allusion  to  the  gallant  defence  of  a  fort 
on  the  wild  Iroquois  frontier  by  a  former  lady  of  her  house. 

"  My  Lord  Count,"  replied  the  lady,  with  quiet  dignity, 
"  'tis  no  special  merit  of  the  house  of  Tilly  to  be  true  to  its 
ancient  fame  —  it  could  not  be  otherwise.  But  your  thanks 
are  at  this  time  more  due  to  these  loyal  habitans,  who  have 
so  promptly  obeyed  your  proclamation.  It  is  the  King's 
corvee  to  restore  the  walls  of  (Quebec,  and  no  Canadian  may 
withhold  his  1.  md  from  it  without  disgrace." 

"  The  Chevalier  La  Corne  St.  Luc  will  think  us  two  poor 
women  a  weak  accession  to  the  garrison,"  added  she,  turn- 
ing to  the  Chevalier  and  cordially  offering  her  hand  to  the 
brave  old  officer,  who  hnd  been  the  comrade  in  arms  of  her 
Inisband  and  the  dearest  friend  of  her  family. 

"  Good  blood  never  fails,  my  Lady,"  returned  the  Chev- 
alier, warmly  grasping  her  hand.  "  You  out  of  place  here  ? 
No !  no !  you  are  at  home  on  the  ramparts  of  Quebec,  quite 
as  much  as  in  your  own  drawing-room  at  Tilly.     The  walls 

26 


A  CHATELAINE  OF  NEW  FRANCE. 


27 


a  fort 
louse. 
ignity, 
to  its 
thanks 
o  have 


Chev- 

here  ? 

quite 

walls 


of  ()uebec  without  a  Tilly  and  a  Repentigny  would  be  a 
l);\d  omen  indeed,  worse  than  a  year  without  a  spring  or  a 
summer  without  roses.  But  where  is  my  dear  goddaughter 
Ainclie  ?  " 

As  he  spoke  the  old  soldier  embraced  Anielie  and  kissed 
lier  cheek  with  fatherly  eftusion.  She  was  a  prodigious 
favorite.  "  Welcome,  Amelie  !  "  said  he,  "  the  sight  of  you 
is  like  flowers  in  June.  What  a  glorious  time  you  have  had, 
growing  taller  and  prettier  every  day  all  the  time  I  have 
been  sleeping  by  camp-fires  in  the  forests  of  Acadia !  But 
you  girls  are  all  alike;  why,  I  hardly  knew  my  own  pretty 
Agathe  when  I  came  home.  The  saucy  minx  almost  kissed 
my  eyes  out  —  to  dry  the  tears  of  joy  in  them,  she  said  !  " 

Ame'lie  blushed  deeply  at  the  praises  bestowed  upon  her, 
yet  felt  glad  to  know  that  her  godfather  retained  all  his  old 
affection.  "Where  is  I.e  Gardeur  ?  "  asked  he,  as  she  took 
his  arm  and  walked  a  few  paces  apart  from  the  throng. 

Amelie  colored  deeply,  and  hesitated  a  moment.  "  1  do 
not  know,  godfather  !  We  have  not  seen  Le  Gardeur  since 
our  arrival."  Then  after  a  nervous  silence  she  added,  "  I 
have  been  told  that  he  is  at  Beaumanoir,  hunting  with  His 
Kxcellency  the  Intendant." 

I.a  Corne,  seeing  her  embarrassment,  understood  the 
reluctance  of  her  avowal,  and  sympathized  with  it.  An 
angry  light  Hashed  beneath  his  shaggy  eyelashes,  but  he 
suppressed  his  thoughts.  He  could  not  help  remarking, 
however,  "With  the  Intendant  at  Beaumanoir!  I  could 
have  wished  Le  (Jardeur  in  better  company  !  No  good  can 
come  of  his  intimacy  with  Bigot ;  Amelie,  you  must  wean 
him  from  it.  He  should  have  been  in  the  city  to  receive 
you  and  the  T.ady  de  Tilly." 

"  So  he  doubtless  would  have  been,  had  ho  known  of  our 
coming.  We  sent  word,  but  he  was  away  when  our  mes- 
senger reached  the  city." 

Amelie  felt  half  ashamed,  for  she  was  conscious  that  she 
was  offering  something  unreal  to  extenuate  the  fault  of  her 
brother — her  hopes  rather  than  her  convictions. 

"  Well,  well  !  goddaughter !  we  shall,  at  any  rate,  soon 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  I.e  Gardeur.  The  Intendant 
himself  has  been  summoned  to  attend  a  council  of  war  to- 
day.    Colonel  I'hilibert  left  an  hour  ago  for  Jieaumanoir." 


28 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


Amelie  gave  a  slight  start  at  the  name;  she  looked  inquir- 
ingly, but  did  not  yet  ask  the  question  that  trembled  on  her 
lips. 

"  Thanks,  godfather,  for  the  good  news  of  Le  Gardeur's 
speedy  return."  Amelie  talked  on,  her  thoughts  but  little 
accompanying  her  words  as  she  repeated  to  herself  the  name 
of  Philibert.  "  Have  you  heard  that  the  Intendant  wishes 
to  bestow  an  important  and  honorable  post  in  the  Palace 
upon  Le  Gardcur  —  my  brother  wrote  to  that  effect.''  " 

"  An  important  and  honorable  post  in  the  Palace  .-'  "  The 
old  soldier  emphasized  the  word  /louorablc.  "  No,  I  had  not 
heard  of  it,  —  never  expect  to  hear  of  an  honorable  post  in 
the  company  of  Bigot,  Cadet,  Varin,  JJe  Pean,  and  the  rest  of 
the  scoundrels  of  the  Friponne  !  Pardon  me,  dear,  I  do  not 
class  Le  Gardeur  among  them,  far  from  it,  dear  deluded 
boy  !  My  best  hope  is  that  Colonel  Philibert  will  iind  him 
and  bring  him  clean  and  clear  out  of  their  clutches." 

The  question  thnt  had  trembled  on  her  lips  came  out  now. 
For  her  life  she  could  not  have  retained  it  longer. 

"Who  is  Colonel  Philibert,  godfather?"  asked  she,  sur- 
prise, curiosity,  and  a  still  deeper  interest  marking  her  voice, 
in  spite  of  all  she  could  do  to  appear  indifferent. 

"  Colonel  Philibert  ?  "  repeated  La  Corne.  "  Why,  do  not 
you  know  ?  Who  but  our  young  Pierre  Philibert ;  you  have 
not  forgotten  him,  surely,  Amelie  ?  At  any  rate  he  has  not 
forgotten  you  :  in  many  a  long  night  by  our  v/atch-hreS  in 
the  forest  has  Colonel  Philibert  passed  the  hours  talking  ot 
Tilly  and  the  dear  friends  he  left  there.  Your  brother  at 
any  rate  will  gratefully  remember  Philibert  when  he  sees 
him." 

Amelie  blushed  a  little  as  she  replied  somewhat  shyly. 
"Yes,  godfather,  I  remember  Pierre  Philibert  very  well, — 
with  gratitude  I  remember  him,  -—  but  I  never  heard  him 
called  Colonel  Philibert  before." 

"  Oh,  true !  He  has  been  so  long  absent.  He  left  a 
simple  ensign  en  second  and  returns  a  colonel,  and  has  the 
stuff  in  him  to  make  a  field-marshal !  He  gained  his  rank 
where  he  won  his  glory—  in  Acadia.  A  noble  fellow,  Ame- 
lie !  loving  as  a  woman  to  his  friends,  but  to  his  foes  stem 
as  the  old  bourgeois,  his  father,  who  placed  that  tablet  of  the 
golden  dog  upon  the  front  of  his  house  to  spite  the  Cardinal 


A    CHATKI.AIiN'K    i)l'    NKW     IKANCK. 


29 


1  inquir- 
1  on  her 

ardeur's 
lut  little 
le  name 
t  wishes 
:   Palace 

"  The 
had  not 
post  in 
3  rest  of 
[  do  not 
deluded 
ind  him 

lut  now.     i 

he,  sur- 
r  voice. 


do  not 
)u  have 
las  not 
HreS  ill 
king  ot 

her  at 
le   sees 

shylv. 
veil,  - 
rd  him 

left  a 
as  the 
s  rank 
,  Ame- 

steni 

of  the 

rdinal. 


■i 


they  say.  —  the  act  of  a  bold  man,  let  what  will  be  the  true 
interpretation  of  it." 

"  L  hear  :very  one  speak  well  of  the  Bourgeois  Philibert," 
remarked  Anielie.  "  Aunt  de  Tilly  is  ever  enthusiastic  in 
his  commendation.  She  says  he  is  a  true  gentleman, 
although  a  trader." 

"  Why,  he  is  noble  by  birth,  if  that  be  needed,  and  has 
;i;()t  the  King's  license  to  trade  in  the  Colony  like  some  other 
gentlemen  1  wot  of.  He  was  Count  Philibert  in  Normandy, 
although  he  is  plain  Bourgeois  Philibert  in  Quebec ;  and  a 
wise  man  he  is  too,  for  with  his  ships  and  his  comptoirs  and 
his  ledgers  he  has  traded  himself  into  being  the  richest  man 
in  New  France,  while  we,  with  our  nobility  and  our  swortls, 
have  fought  ourselves  poor,  and  receive  nothing  but  con- 
tempt from  the  ungrateful  courtiers  of  Versailles," 

Their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  a  sudden  rush  of 
people,  making  room  for  the  passage  of  the  Regiment  of 
liearn,  which  composed  part  of  the  garrison  of  Quebec,  on 
their  march  to  their  morning  drill  and  guard-mounting,  — 
bold,  dashing  Gascons  in  blue  and  white  uniforms,  tall  caps, 
and  long  queues  rollicking  down  their  supple  backs,  seldom 
seen  by  an  enemy. 

Mounted  officers,  laced  and  ruffled,  gaily  rode  in  front. 
Subalterns  with  spontoons  and  sergeants  with  halberds 
dressed  the  long  line  of  glistening  bayonets.  'I'he  drums 
and  fifes  made  the  streets  ring  again,  while  the  men  in  full 
chorus,  a  ^ori^c  depioycc,  chanted  the  gay  refrain  of  La  Belle 
CiViadicnnc  in  honor  of  the  lasses  of  (Quebec. 

The  Governor  and  his  suite  had  already  mounted  their 
horses,  and  cantered  off  to  the  Esplanade  to  witness  the 
review. 

*'  Come  and  dine  with  us  to-day,"  said  the  Lady  de  Tilly 
to  La  Come  St.  Luc,  as  he  too  bade  the  ladies  a  courteous 
adieu,  and  got  on  horseback  to  ride  after  the  Governor. 

"Many  thanks!  but  1  fear  it  will  be  impossible,  my  Lady: 
the  council  of  war  meets  at  the  Castle  this  afternoon.  The 
hour  may  be  deferred,  however,  should  Colonel  Philibert 
not  chance  to  find  the  Intendant  at  licaumanoir,  and  then  I 
might  come ;  but  best  not  expect  me." 

A  slight,  conscious  flush  just  touched  the  cheek  of  Amelie 
at  the  mention  of  Colonel  Philibert. 


30 


TMI'.    (i()I.I)i;N     I)(K, 


"  Hut  come  if  possible,  godfather,"  added  she ;  "  we  hope 
to  have  Le  Gardeur  home  this  afternof)n.  He  loves  you  so 
much,  and  I  know  you  have  countless  thinj^s  to  say  to  him." 

Amelie's  trembling  anxiety  about  her  brother  made  her 
most  desirous  to  bring  the  powerful  intkience  of  La  Corne 
St.  Luc  to  bear  upon  him. 

Their  kind  old  godfather  was  regarded  with  filial  rever- 
ence by  both.  Amelie's  father,  dying  on  the  battle-field, 
had,  with  his  latest  breath,  commended  ihe  care  of  hi.s 
children  to  the  love  and  friendship  of  La  C!orne  St.  Luc. 

"Well,  Amelie,  blessed  are  they  who  do  not  promise  and 
still  perform.  I  must  try  and  meet  my  dear  boy,  so  do  not 
quite  place  me  among  the  impossibles.  (lood-by,  my  Lady. 
Good-by,  Amelie."  The  old  soldier  gaily  kissed  his  hand 
and  rode  away. 

Amc'lie  was  thoroughly  surprised  and  agitated  out  of  all 
composure  by  the  news  of  the  return  of  I'ierre  IMiiliberl. 
She  turned  aside  from  the  busy  thrc^g  that  surrounded  her, 
leaving  her  aunt  engaged  in  eager  conversation  with  the 
Bishop  and  Father  de  ]>erey.  She  sat  down  in  a  quiel 
embrasure  of  the  wall,  and  with  one  hand  resting  her  droop- 
ing cheek,  a  train  of  reminiscences  flew  across  her  mind 
like  a  liight  of  pure  doves  suddenly  staitled  out  of  a  thicket. 

She  remembered  vividly  Pierre  Philibert,  the  friend  and 
fellow-student  of  her  brother :  he  spent  so  many  of  his 
holidays  at  the  old  Manor-House  of  Tilly,  when  she,  a  still 
younger  girl,  shared  their  sports,  wove  ciiaplets  of  flowers 
for  them,  or  on  her  shaggy  pony  rode  with  them  on  many  a 
scamper  through  the  wild  woods  of  the  Seigniory.  Those 
summer  and  winter  vacations  of  the  old  Seminary  of  Quebec 
used  to  be  looked  forward  to  by  the  young,  lively  girl  as 
the  brightest  spots  in  the  whole  year,  and  she  grew  hardly 
to  distinguish  the  affection  she  bore  her  brother  from  the 
regard  in  which  she  held  Pierre  Philibert. 

A  startling  incident  happened  one  day,  that  filled  the 
inmates  of  the  Manor  House  with  terror,  followed  by  a  great 
joy,  and  which  raised  Pierre  Philibert  to  the  rank  of  an 
unparalleled  hero  in  the  imagination  of  the  young  girl. 

Her  brother  was  gambolling  carelessly  in  a  canoe,  while 
she  and  Pierre  sat  on  the  bank  watching  him.  The  light 
craft    suddenly    upset.      Le    Gardeur    struggled    for    a   few 


A    CHATELAINE.    Ol-     NEW    FRANCE. 


31 


moments,  and  sunk  under  the  blue  waves  that  look  so 
beautiful  and  are  so  cruel. 

Amelie  shrieked  in  the  wildest  terror  and  in  helpless 
agony,  while  I'hilibert  rushed  without  hesitation  into  the 
water,  swam  out  to  the  spot,  and  dived  with  the  agility  of  a 
heaver.  He  presently  reappeared,  bearing  the  inanimate 
body  of  her  brother  to  the  shore.  Help  was  soon  obtained, 
and,  after  long  efforts  to  restore  Le  Gardeur  to  conscious- 
ness, —  efforts  which  seemed  to  last  an  age  to  the  despairing 
girl,  —  they  at  last  succeeded,  and  Le  Gardeur  was  restored 
to  the  arms  of  his  family.  Amelie,  in  a  delirium  of  joy  and 
gratitude,  ran  to  Philibert,  threw  her  arms  round  him,  and 
kissed  him  again  and  again,  pledging  her  eternal  gratitude 
to  the  preserver  of  her  brother,  and  vowing  that  she  would 
pray  for  him  to  her  life's  end. 

Soon  after  that  memorable  event  in  her  young  life,  Pierre 
Philibert  was  sent  to  the  great  military  schools  in  France  to 
study  the  art  of  war  with  a  view  to  entering  the  King's 
service,  while  Amelie  was  placed  in  the  Convent  of  the 
Lirsulines  to  be  perfected  in  all  the  knowledge  and  accom- 
plishments of  a  lady  of  highest  rank  in  the  Colony. 

Despite  the  cold  shade  of  a  cloister,  where  the  idea  of  a 
lover  is  forbidden  to  enter,  the  image  of  Pierre  Philibert  did 
intrude,  and  became  inseparable  from  the  recollection  of  her 
brother  in  the  mind  of  Amelie.  He  mingled  as  the  fairy 
prince  in  the  day-dreams  and  bright  imaginings  of  the  young, 
poetic  girl.  She  had  vowed  to  pray  for  him  to  her  life's 
end,  and  in  pursuance  of  her  vow  added  a  golden  bead  to 
her  chaplet  to  remind  her  of  her  duty  in  praying  for  the 
safety  and  happiness  of  Pierre  Philibert. 

But  in  the  quiet  life  of  the  cloister,  Amelie  heard  little 
of  the  storms  of  war  upon  the  frontier  and  down  in  the  far 
valleys  of  Acadia.  She  had  not  followed  the  career  of 
Pierre  from  the  military  school  to  the  camp  and  the  battle- 
field, nor  knew  of  his  rapid  promotion,  as  one  of  the  ablest 
officers  in  the  King's  service,  to  a  high  command  in  his 
native  Colony. 

Her  surprise,  therefore,  was  extreme  when  she  learned 
that  the  boy  companion  of  her  brother  and  herself  was  no 
other  than  the  renowned  Colonel  Philibert,  Aide-de-Camp 
of  His  Excellency  the  Governor-General. 


32 


THK    f -.OLDEN    DOG. 


There  was  no  cause  for  shame  in   it ;  but  her  heart  \v;is| 
suddenly  illuminated  by  a  Hash  of  introspection.     She  be- 
came  painfully  conscious   how  much    IMerre    Philibert   had! 
occupied  her  thoughts  for  years,  and  now  all  at  once  she 
knew  he  was  a  man,  and   a  great  and  noble  one.     She  was 
thoroughly  perplexed  and  half  angry.      She  questioned  her 
self  sharply,  as  if  running  thorns  into  her  flesh,  to  inquire 
whether  she  had  failed  in  the  least  point  of  maidenly  modesty 
and  reserve  in  thinking  so  much  of  him  ;  and  the  more  she 
questioned   herself,  the  more   agitated  she  grew   under  herj 
self-accusation:  her  temples  throbbed  violently  ;  she  hardlv 
dared  lift  her  eyes  from  the  grountl  lest  some  one,  even  a| 
stranger,  she  thought,  might  see  her  confusion  and  read  il:^ 
cause.   "  Sancta  Maria,"  she  murmuretl,  pressing  her  bosoml 
with  both  hands,  "calm  my  soul  with  thy  divine  peace,  for  I 
know  not  what  to  do  !  " 

So  she  sat  alone  in  the  embrasure,  living  a  life  of  emo 
tion  in  a  few  minutes;  nor  did  she  find  any  calm  for  hcrj 
agitated  spirits  until  the  thought  flashed  upon  her  that  she! 
was  distressing  herself  iieedlessly.       It  was  most  improbabli 
that  Colonel  Philibert,  after  years  of  absence  and  active  liki 
in  the  world's  great  affairs,  could  retain  any  recollection  of 
the  schoolgirl  of  the  Manor  House    of   'I'illy.      She  might | 
meet  him,  nay,  was  certain  to  do  so  in  the  society  in  whici 
both  moved  ;  but  it  would  surely  be  as  a  stranger  on  his| 
part,  and  she  must  make  it  so  on  her  own. 

With   this   empty  piece  of  casuistry,  Amelie,  like  others! 
of  her  sex,  placed  a  hand  of  steel,  encased  in  a  silken  glove j 
upon  her  heart,  and  tyrannically  suppressed  its  yearnings. i 
She  was  a  victim,  with  the  outward  show  of  conquest  over 
her  feelings.       In  the  consciousness  of  Philibert's  imagined] 
indifference  and  utter  forgetfulness,  she  could  meet  him  now, 
she  thought,  with  e(|uanimity       nay,  rather  wished  to  do  so, 
to  make  sure  that  she  had  not  lieen  guilty  of  weakness  in  I 
regard  to  him.     She  looked  up,  but  was  glad  to  see  her  aunt 
still  engaged   in   conversation  with  the   P>ishop   on   a  topic 
which  Amelie  knew  was  dear  to  them  both,  -    the  care  of  the| 
souls  and  bodies  of  the  poor,  in  |)articular  those  for  whom 
the  Lady  de  Tilly  felt  herself  responsilile  to  (lod  and  the  King, 

While   Amelie  sat    thinking  over  the  strange  chances  oil 
the  morning,  a  sudden  whirl  of  wheels  drew  her  attention. 


A  CHATELAINE  OF  NEW  FRANCE. 


33 


A  gay  caleche,  drawn  by  two  spirited  horses  en  fleche,  dashed 
through  the  gateway  of  St.  John,  and  wheeling  swiftly  towards 
Anic'lie,  suddenly  halted.  A  young  lady  attired  in  the  gayest 
fasiiion  of  the  period,  throwing  the  reins  to  the  groom, 
sprang  out  of  the  caleche  with  the  ease  and  elasticity  of  an 
antelope.  She  ran  up  the  rampart  to  Amelie  with  a  glad 
cry  of  recognition,  repeating  her  name  in  a  clear,  musical 
voice,  which  Amelie  at  once  knew  belonged  to  no  other  than 
the  gay,  beautiful  Angelique  des  Meloises.  The  newcomer 
embraced  Amelie  and  kissed  her,  with  warmest  expressions 
of  joy  at  meeting  her  thus  unexpectedly  in  the  city.  She 
had  learned  that  Lady  de  Tilly  had  returned  to  ()uebe':,  she 
said,  and  she  had,  therefore,  taken  the  earliest  opportunity 
to  find  out  her  dear  friend  and  school-fellow  to  tell  her  all 
the  doings  in  the  city. 

''  It  IS  kind  of  you,  Angelique,"  replied  Amelie,  returning 
her  caress  warmly,  but  without  effusion.  "  We  have  simply 
come  with  our  people  to  assist  in  the  King's  <v^'7w;  when 
that  is  done,  we  shall  return  to  Tilly.  i  felt  sure  I  should 
meet  you,  and  thought  I  should  know  you  again  easily, 
which  I  hardly  do.  How  you  are  changed  — for  the  better, 
1  should  say,  since  you  left  off  conventual  cap  and  cos- 
tume 1  "  Amelie  could  not  but  look  admiringly  on  the 
beauty  of  the  radiant  girl.  "  How  handsome  you  have 
grown  !  but  you  were  always  that.  \\^e  both  took  the  crown 
of  honor  together,  but  you  would  alone  take  the  crown  of 
beauty,  Angelique."  Amelie  stood  off  a  pace  or  two,  and 
looked  at  her  friend  from  head  to  foot  with  honest  admira 
lion,  '*and  would  deserve  to  wear  it  too,"  added  she. 

"  I  like  to  hear  you  say  that,  Amelie;  I  should  prefer  the 
crown  of  beauty  to  all  other  crowns!  V'ou  half  smile  at 
that,  but  1  must  tell  the  truth,  if  you  do.  Hut  you  were 
always  a  truth-teller,  you  know,  in  the  convent,  and  I  was 
not  so  1     Let  us  cease  flatteries." 

Angelique  felt  highly  Haltered  by  the  praise  of  Amelie, 
whom  she  had  sometimes  condescended  to  envy  for  her 
graceful  figure  and  lovely,  expressive  features. 

"(lentlemcn  often  s|)eak  as  you  do,  Amelie,"  continued 
she,  "but,  pshaw!  they  cannot  judge  as  girls  do,  you  know. 
Hut  do  you  really  think  me  beautiful  ?  and  how  beautiful  ? 
Compare  me  to  some  one  we  know." 


34 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


"  I  can  only  compare  you  to  yourself,  Ang^lique.  Youl 
are  more  beautiful  than  any  one  I  know,"  Am^lie  burst  out! 
in  frank  enthusiasm. 

"  But,  really  and  truly,  do  you  think  me  beautiful,  not  only! 
in  your  eyes,  but  in  the  judgment  of  the  world  ?  " 

Angelique  brushed  back  her  glorious  hair  and  stared  I 
fixedly  in  the  face  of  her  friend,  as  if  seeking  confirmation] 
of  something  in  lier  own  thoughts. 

"  What  a  strange  question,  Angelique  I  Why  do  you  ask  I 
me  in  that  way  ?  " 

"  Because,"  replied  she  with  bitterness,  "  I  begin-  to  doubt  I 
it.     I   have   been   praised  for  my  good  looks  until  I  grow] 
weary  of   the    iteration ;    but    I  believed  the  lying  flattery 
once,  —  as  what  woman  would  not,  when  it  is  repeated  evervl 
day  of  her  life  ?  " 

Amdlie  looked  sufficiently   puzzled.       "What    has  cornel 
over   you,  Angelique  ?     Why  should    you  doubt  your  own 
charms  ?  or  really,  have  you  found  at  last  a  case  in  which  | 
they  fail  you  ?  " 

Very  unlikely,  a  man  would  say  at  first,  second,  or  third 
sight  of  Angelique  des  Mv^loises.  She  was  indeed  a  fairl 
gir)  to  look  upon,  —  tall,  and  fashioned  in  nature's  most 
voluptuous  mould,  perfect  in  the  symmetry  of  every  part, 
with  an  ease  and  beauty  of  movement  not  suggestive  of 
spiritual  graces,  like  Ame'lie's,  but  of  terrestrial  witcheries, 
like  those  great  women  of  old  who  drew  down  the  very  gods 
from  Olympus,  and  who  in  all  ages  have  incited  men  to  the 
noblest  deeds,  or  tempted  them  to  the  greatest  crimes. 

She  was  beautiful  of  that  rare  type  of  beauty  which  is 
only  reproduced  once  or  twice  in  a  century  to  realize  the 
dreams  of  a  Titian  or  a  Giorgione.  Her  complexion  was 
clear  and  radiant,  as  of  a  descendant  of  the  "Sun  God.  Her 
bright  hair,  if  its  golden  ripples  were  shaken  out,  would 
reach  to  her  knees.  Her  face  was  worthy  of  immortality  by 
the  pencil  of  a  Titian.  Her  dark  eyes  drew  with  a  magnet- 
ism which  attracted  men,  in  spite  of  themselves,  whitherso- 
ever she  would  lead  them.  They  were  never  so  dangerous 
as  when,  in  apparent  repose,  they  sheathed  their  fascination 
for  a  moment,  and  suddenly  shot  a  backward  glance,  like  a 
Parthian  arrow,  from  under  their  long  eyelashes,  that  left 
a  wound  to  be  sighed  over  for  many  a  day. 


The  spoiled 

Id'Avesne  des 

Ange'lique  gre| 

her  companioi 

mired  and  flatJ 

shipped  as  thel 

I  despair  and  enj 

(if  men,  and  s| 

Iferied.     She   tl 

[aspiring  as  thaj 

danced  in  the 

land  stole  a  ki| 

Angelique  had 
land  in  the  gay 
I  she  regarded  it 

it  was  withheld 

She  was  not 

I  aspiring.      Her 

il  she  set  hard 

caused  by  her 
Iculating  under 
j  Although  many 

felt  sure  they  hi 


A    CHATELAINE    (W    NEW    FRANCE. 


35 


The  spoiled  and  petted  child  of  the  brave,  careless  Renaud 
[d'Avesne  des  Meloises,  of  an  ancient  family  in  the  Nivernois, 
Angelique  grew  up  a  motherless  girl,  clever  above  most  of 
her  companions,  conscious  of  superior  charms,  always  ad- 
mired and  flattered,  and,  since  she  left  the  Convent,  wor- 
shipped as  the  idol  of  the  gay  gallants  of  the  city,  and  the 
I  despair  and  envy  of  her  own  sex.  She  was  a  born  sovereign 
if  men,  and  she  felt  it.  It  was  her  divine  right  to  be  pre- 
ferred. She  trod  the  earth  with  dainty  feet,  and  a  step 
[aspiring  as  that  of  the  fair  Louise  de  La  Valliere  when  she 
Ulanced  in  the  royal  ballet  in  the  forest  of  Fontainebleau 
I  and  stole  a  king's  heart  by  the  Hashes  of  her  pretty  feet. 
Angelique  had  been  indulged  by  her  father  in  every  caprice, 
land  in  the  gay  world  inhaled  the  incense  of  adulation  until 
she  regarded  it  as  her  right,  and  resented  passionately  when 
it  was  withheld. 

She  was  not  by  nature  bad,  although  vain,  selfish,  and 
aspiring.  Her  footstool  was  the  hearts  of  men,  and  upon 
it  she  set  hard  her  beautiful  feet,  indifferent  to  the  anguish 
caused  by  her  capricious  tyranny.  She  was  cold  and  cal- 
culating under  the  warm  passions  of  a  voluptuous  nature. 
Although  many  might  believe  they  had  won  the  favor,  none 
felt  sure  they  had  gained  the  love  of  this  fair,  capricious  girl. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


CONFIDENCES. 


ANGl^XIQUF'.  took  the  arm  of  Ame'lie  in  her  old,  familiar 
schoolgirl  way,  and  led  her  to  the  sunny  corner  of  a 
bastion  where  lay  a  dismounted  cannon. 

The  girls  sat  down  upon  the  old  gun.  Ange'lique  held 
Amelie  by  both  hands,  as  if  hesitating  how  to  express  some- 
thing she  wished  to  say.  Still,  when  Angelique  did  speak, 
it  was  plain  to  Amelie  that  she  had  other  things  on  her  mind 
than  what  her  tongue  gave  loose  to. 

"  Now  we  are  quite  alone,  Amelie,"  said  she,  "  we  can 
talk  as  we  used  to  do  in  our  school-days.  You  have  not 
been  in  the  city  during  the  w^hole  summer,  and  have  missed 
all  its  gaieties  ?  " 

"  I  was  well  content.  How  beautiful  the  country  looks 
from  here  !  "  replied  Amelie.  "  How  much  pleasanter  to  he 
in  it,  revelling  among  the  flowers  and  under  the  trees  !  1 
like  to  touch  the  country  as  well  as  to  look  at  it  from  a  dis- 
tance, as  you  do  in  Quebec." 

"  Well,  I  never  care  for  the  country  if  I  can  only  get 
enough  of  the  city.  Quebec  was  never  so  gay  as  it  has 
been  this  year.  The  Royal  Roussillon,  and  the  freshly  ar- 
rived regiments  of  Beam  and  Ponthieu,  have  turned  the 
heads  of  all  Quebec, —  of  the  girls,  that  is.  Gallants  have 
been  plenty  as  bilberries  in  August.  And  you  may  be  sure  I 
got  my  share,  Ame'lie."  Angelique  laughed  aloud  at  some 
secret  reminiscences  of  her  su'nmer  campaign. 

"  It  is  well  that  I  did  not  come  to  the  city,  Angelique,  to 
get  my  head  turned  like  the  rest ;  but  .low  that  I  am  here, 
suppose  I  should  mercifully  try  to  heal  some  of  the  hearts 
you  have  broken  !  " 

"  I  hope  you  won't  try.  Those  bright  eyes  of  yours  would 
heal  too  effectually  the  v^ounds  made  l)y  mint,  and  that  is 
not  what  1  desire,"  replied  AngcMicpie,  laugliing. 

"  No  1  then  your  heart  is  more  cruel  than  your  eyes.  But, 
tell  me,  who  have  been  your  victims  this  year,  Angelique  .'' 

36 


CONFIDENCES. 


37 


"  Well,  to  be  frank,  Amelie,  I  have  tried  my  fascinations 
upon  the  King's  officers  very  impartially,  and  with  fair  suc- 
cess. There  have  been  three  duels,  two  deaths,  and  one 
captain  of  the  Royal  Roussillon  turned  cordelier  for  my 
sake.     Is  that  not  a  fair  return  for  my  labor } " 

"  Vou  are  shocking  as  ever,  Angelique  !  I  do  not  believe 
YOU  feel  proud  of  such  triumphs,"  exclaimed  Amelie. 

"  Proud,  no  !  I  am  not  proud  of  conquering  men.  That 
is  easy  !  My  triumphs  are  over  the  women  !  And  the  way  to 
triumph  over  them  is  to  subdue  the  men.  Vou  know  my 
old  rival  at  school,  the  haughty  Francjoise  de  Lantagnac  :  I 
owed  her  a  grudge,  and  she  has  put  on  the  black  veil  for 
life,  instead  of  the  white  one  and  orange-blossoms  for  a  day  ! 
I  only  meant  to  frighten  her,  however,  when  I  stole  her 
lover,  but  she  took  it  to  heart  and  went  into  the  Convent. 
It  was  dangerous  for  her  to  challenge  Angelique  des  Me- 
loises  to  test  the  fidelity  of  her  affianced,  Julien  de  St. 
Croix." 

Amelie  rose  up  in  honest  indignation,  her  cheek  burning 
like  a  coal  of  fire.  "  I  know  your  wild  talk  of  old,  Ange- 
lique, but  I  will  not  believe  you  are  so  wicked  as  to  make 
deadly  sport  of  our  holiest  affections." 

"Ah,  if  you  knew  men  as  I  do,  Amelie,  you  would  think 
it  no  sin  to  punish  them  for  their  perjuries." 

"No,  1  don't  know  men,"  replied  Amelie,  "but  I  think  a 
noble  man  is,  after  God,  the  worthiest  object  of  a  woman's 
devotion.  We  were  better  dead  than  finding  amusement  in 
the  pain  of  those  v,ho  love  us ;  pray  what  l)ecame  of  Julien 
de  St.  Croix  after  you  broke  up  his  intended  marriage  with 
poor  Franc^oise  ? " 

"Oh!  1  threw  him  t  >  the  fishes!  What  did  I  care  for 
him  ?  It  was  mainly  to  punish  I""ran(^oise's  presumption  that 
1  showed  my  power  and  made  him  fight  that  desperate  duel 
with  Captain  Le  l''ranc." 

"()  Angelique,  how  could  you  be  so  unutterably  wicked  ?" 

"  Wicked  ?  It  was  not  my  fault,  you  kntnv,  that  he  was 
killed.  lie  was  my  champion,  and  ought  lo  have  come  off 
vi(^tor.  I  wore  a  black  rii)l)on  for  him  a  full  half-year,  and 
had  the  credit  of  being  devoted  to  his  memory;  I  had  my 
triumph  in  that  if  in  nothing  else." 

"  Your  triumph  !  for  shame,  Angelique  I     I  will  not  listen 


38 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


to  you :  you  profane  the  very  name  of  love  by  uttering  such 
sentiments.     The  gift  of  so  much  beauty  was  for  blessinj^  I 
not  for  pain.     St.  Mary  pray  for  you,  Angeli  que :  you  need  j 
her  prayers  !  "     Amelie  rose  up  suddenly. 

"Nay,  do  not  get  angry  and  go  off  that  way,  Amelie,"] 
ejaculated  Angelique.     "1  will  do  penance  for  my  triumphs! 
by  relating  my  defeats,  and  my  special  failure  of  all,  which  1 
know  you  will  rejoice  to  hear." 

*'  I,  Angelique  ?  What  have  your  triumphs  or  failures  to 
do  with  me?  No,  I  care  not  to  hear.''  Angelique  held  her 
half  forcibly  by  the  scarf. 

"  But  you  will  care  when  I  tell  you  that  I  met  an  old  and 
valued  friend  of  yours  last  night  at  the  Castle  —  the  new 
Aide-de-('amp  of  the  Governor,  Colonel  Philibert.  I  think 
I  have  heard  you  speak  of  Pierre  Philibert  in  the  Convent, 
Amelie .? " 

Amelie  felt  the  net  thrown  over  her  by  the  skilful  ro- 
tiaria.  She  stood  stock-still  in  mute  surprise,  with  averted 
eye  and  deeply  blushing  cheek,  fighting  desperately  with  the 
confusion  she  feared  to  let  Angelique  detect.  But  th:U 
keen-sighted  girl  saw  too  clearly  —  she  had  caught  her  fast 
as  a  bird  is  caught  by  the  fowler. 

"  Yes,  I  met  with  a  double  defeat  last  night,"  continued 
Angelique. 

"  Indeed  !  pray,  from  whom  ?  "  Amelie's  curiosity,  though 
not  usually  a  troublesome  (piality,  was  by  this  time  fairly 
roused. 

Angelique  saw  her  drift,  and  played  with  her  anxiety  for 
a  few  moments. 

"  My  first  rebuff  was  from  that  gentlemanly  philosopher 
from  Sweden,  a  great  friend  of  the  Governor,  you  know. 
But,  alas,  1  might  as  well  have  tried  to  fascinate  an  iceberg  ! 
1  do  not  believe  that  he  knew,  after  a  half-hour's  conversation 
with  me,  whether  1  was  man  or  woman.  That  was  defeat 
number  one." 

"  And  what  was  number  two  ? "  Amelie  was  now  thor- 
oughly interested  in  Angc'lique's  gossip. 

"  I  left  the  dry,  unappreciative  philosopher,  and  devoted 
myself  to  charm  the  handsome  Colonel  Philibert.  He  was 
all  wit  and  courtesy,  but  my  failure  was  even  more  signal 
with  him  than  with  the  cold  Swede." 


CONFIDENCES. 


39 


Am^lie's  eyes  gave  a  sparkle  of  joy,  which  did  not  escape 
Angclique,  but  she  pretended  not  to  see  it.  "  How  was 
that?  Tell  me,  pray,  how  you  failed  with  Colonel  Phili- 
bert  ? " 

"  My  cause  of  failure  would  not  be  a  lesson  for  you, 
Aniclie.  Listen  !  I  got  a  speedy  introduction  to  Colonel 
I'hilibert,  who,  I  confess,  is  one  of  the  handsomest  men  I 
ever  saw.     1  was  bent  on  attracting  him." 

"  For  shame,  Angclique !  How  could  you  confess  to 
aught  so  unwomanly !  "  There  was  a  warmth  in  Ame'lie's 
tone  that  was  less  noticed  by  herself  than  by  her  companion. 

"  Well,  it  is  my  way  of  conquering  the  King's  army.  I 
shot  my  whole  quiver  of  arrows  at  Colonel  Philibert,  but,  to 
my  chagrin,  hit  not  a  vital  part !  He  parried  every  one, 
and  returned  them  broken  at  my  feet.  His  persistent  ques- 
tioning about  yourself,  as  soon  as  he  discovered  we  had 
been  school  companions  at  the  Convent,  quite  foiled  me. 
He  was  full  of  interest  about  you,  and  all  that  concerned 
you,  but  cared  not  a  fig  about  me  ! " 

"What  could  Colonel  Philibert  have  to  ask  you  about 
ine  ?  "  Ame'lie  unconsciously  drew  closer  to  her  companion, 
and  even  clasped  her  arm  by  an  involuntary  movement 
which  did  not  escape  her  friend. 

"  Why,  he  asked  everything  a  gentleman  could,  with 
proper  respect,  ask  about  a  lady." 

"  And  what  did  you  say  }  " 

"  Oh,  not  half  enough  to  content  him.  I  confess  I  felt 
piqued  that  he  only  looked  on  me  as  a  sort  of  pythoness  to 
solve  enigmas  about  you.  1  had  a  grim  satisfaction  in  leav- 
ing his  curiosity  irritated,  but  not  satisfied.  1  praised  your 
beauty,  goodness,  and  cleverness  up  to  the  skies,  however. 
1  was  not  untrue  to  old  friendship,  Arnelie  !  "  Angclique 
kissed  her  friend  on  the  cheek,  who  silently  allowed  what,  in 
her  indignation  a  few  moments  ago,  she  would  have  refused. 

"  Ihit  what  said  Colonel  Philibert  of  himself.-'  Never 
mind  about  me." 

"  Oh,  impatient  that  you  are  !  He  said  nothing  of  himself. 
He  was  absorbed  in  my  stories  concerning  you.  I  told  him 
as  pretty  a  fable  as  La  Fontaine  related  of  the  A^  ire  </in 
avciit pcniit  son  trhor !  1  said  you  were  a  beautiful  chate- 
laine besieged  by  an  army  of  lovers,  but  the   knight  errant 


40 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


Fortunatus  had  alone  won  your  favor,  and  would  receive 
your  hand  !  The  brave  Colonel  !  I  could  see  he  winced  at 
this.  His  steel  cuirass  was  not  invulnerable.  I  drew  blood, 
which  is  more  than  you  would  have  dared  to  do,  Amelie ! 
But  I  discovered  the  truth  hidden  in  his  heart.  He  is  in 
love  with  you,   Amelie  de   Repentigny  !  " 

"Mad  girl!  How  could  you.''  How  dare  you  speak  so 
of  me?     What  must  Colonel   Philibert  think?" 

"Think?  Ho  thinks  you  must  be  the  most  perfect  of 
your  sex !  \Viiy,  his  mind  was  made  up  about  you,  Amelie. 
before  he  said  a  word  to  me.  Indeed,  he  only  just  wanted 
to  enjoy  the  supernal  pleasure  of  hearing  me  sing  the  praises 
of  Amelie  l)e  Repentigny  to  the  tune  composed  by  himself." 

"  Which  you  seem  to  have  done,  Angelique !  " 

"  As  musically  as  Mere  St.  Jiorgia  when  singing  vespers 
in  the  Ursulines,"  was  Angelique's  Hippant  reply. 

Amelie  knew  how  useless  it  was  to  expostulate.  She 
swallowed  her  mingled  pleasure  and  vexation  salt  with  tears 
she  could  not  help.  She  changed  the  subject  by  a  violent 
wrench,  and  asked  Angelique  when  she  had  last  seen  Le 
Gardeur. 

"At  the  Intendant's  levee  the  other  day.  How  like 
you  he  is,  too,  only  less  amiable  !  " 

Angelique  did  not  respond  readily  to  her  friend's  ques- 
tion al30ut  her  brother. 

"  Less  amiable  ?  that  is  not  like  my  brother.  Why  do 
you  think  him  less  amiable  than  me  ? " 

"  Because  he  got  angry  with  me  at  the  ball  given  in  honor 
of  the  arrival  of  the  Intendant,  and  I  ha\e  not  been  able 
to  restore  him  to  perfect  good  humor  with  me  since." 

"  Oh,  then  Le  Gardeur  completes  the  trio  of  those  who  are 
proof  against  your  fascinations?"  Amelie  was  secretly  glad 
to  hear  of  the  displeasure  of  Le  (iardeur  with  Angelique." 

"  Not  at  all,  I  hope,  Amelie.  I  don't  place  Le  Gardeur 
in  the  same  category  with  my  other  admirers.  But  he  got 
offended  because  1  seemed  to  neglect  him  a  little  to  culti- 
vate this  gay  new  Intendant.      Do  you  know  him  ?" 

"No;  nor  wish  to!  I  have  heard  much  said  to  his 
disadvantage.  The  Chevalier  La  Corne  Si.  Luc  has  openly 
expressed  his  dislike  of  the  Intendant  for  something  that 
happened  in  Acadia." 


"  Oh,  the  CH 
likes  and  dislil 
bad  to  satisfy  1] 
of  her  lips." 

"  Don't  spea| 
profane  on  an] 
virtues  is  the  C 

"  Well,  I  w'ox] 
brave  old  soldit 
Flanders!" 

'•  Thousands 
si  on  of  the    In 
Chevalier  La  C 
liked  censuring 

"  Ves,"  replit 
think  themselvt 
he  uses  the  roy; 
one,  high  and  Ic 

-While  he  d( 
cian,  Angc'lique, 
Intendant  a  bac 
'cultivating  him 

"  Well,  he  is 
ihey  say  he  ama 

"'And  lost  th 
with  all  the  a^ 
capable  of.     "  ^ 

"  I  don't  can 
loseph  in  Kgyi 
shoe  his  horses 
,i;(jlden  slippers - 

Angelique  stn 
in  fancy  she  air 

"It  is  shocl- 
liityingly,  for  si 
dioiights.  "  l)U 
dissolute  as  rim 

"  1   don't  can 
rich,  and  all-po\ 
fiuorite  of  the 
want?  "  replied 


CONFIDENCES. 


41 


"Oh,  the  Chevalier  La  Come  is  always  so  decided  in  his 
likes  and  dislikes  :  one  must  either  be  very  good  or  very 
l)ad  to  satisfy  him ! "  replied  Ange'lique  with  a  scornful  pout 

of   llLT   lips," 

'•  Don  t  speak  ill  of  my  godfather,  Angelique;  better  be 
profane  on  any  other  topic  ;  you  know  my  ideal  of  manly 
\  irtues  is  the  Chevalier  La  Corne,"  replied  Amelie. 

"  Well,  1  won't  pull  down  your  idol,  then  !  I  respect  the 
l)ra\  e  old  soldier,  too ;  but  could  wish  him  with  the  army  in 
!•  landers!" 

"'thousands  of  estimable  people  augur  ill  from  the  acces- 
sion of  the  Intendant  Higot  in  New  France,  besides  the 
Chevalier  La  Corne,"  Amelie  said  after  a  pause.  She  dis- 
liked censuring  even  the  Intendant. 

"  Ves,"  replied  Angelique,  "the  Honnetes  Gens  do,  who 
think  themselves  bound  to  oppose  the  Intendant,  because 
he  uses  the  royal  authority  in  a  regal  way,  and  makes  every 
une,  high  and  low,  r'^  their  licvoir  io  Church  and  State." 

*•  While  he  does  his  dei'oir  to  none  !  But  I  am  no  politi- 
cian, Angelique.  liut  when  so  many  good  people  call  the 
Intendant  a  bad  man,  it  behooves  one  to  be  circumspect  in 
'cultivating  him,'  as  you  call  it." 

"  Well,  he  is  rich  enough  to  pay  for  all  the  broken  pots : 
they  say  he  amassed  untold  wealth  in  Acadia,  Amelie  !  " 

"And  lost  the  province  for  the  king!"  retorted  Amelie, 
with  all  the  asperity  her  gentle  but  patriotic  spirit  was 
cai)able  of.     "  Some  say  he  sold  the  country." 

"  1  don't  care  ! "  replied  the  reckless  beauty,  "  he  is  like 
Joseph  in  Kgypt,  next  to  Pharaoh  in  authority.  He  can 
shoe  his  horses  with  gold !  I  wish  he  would  shoe  me  with 
i;()Ulen  slippers —  I  would  wear  them,  Amelie  !  " 

Angelique  stamped  her  dainty  foot  upon  the  ground,  as  if 
in  fancy  she  already  had  them  on. 

"It  is  shocking  if  you  mean  it!"  remarked  Amelie 
pityingly,  for  she  felt  Angeli{|ue  was  sjieaking  her  genuine 
thoughts.  "  l)Ut  is  it  true  that  the  Intendant  is  really  as 
dissolute  as  rumor  says  ?  " 

"1  don't  care  if  it  be  true:  he  is  noble,  gallant,  polite, 
rich,  and  all-powerful  at  Court.  He  is  reported  to  be  prime 
favorite  of  the  Marcpiise  de  Pompadour.  What  more  do  I 
want?"  replied  Angelique  warmly. 


42 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


Amelie  knew  enough  by  report  of  the  French  Court  to 
cause  her  to  shrink  instinctively,  as  from  a  repulsive  insect, 
at  the  name  of  the  mistress  of  Louis  XV.  She  trembled  at 
the  thought  of  Angclique's  infatuation,  or  perversity,  in 
suffering  herself  to  be  attracted  by  the  glitier  of  the  vices 
of  the  Royal  Intendant. 

"Angelique!"  exclaimed  she,  "I  have  heard  things  of  the 
Intendant  that  would  make  me  tremble  for  you,  were  you  in 
earnest." 

"  But  I  am  in  earnest !  1  mean  to  win  and  wear  the 
Intendant  of  New  France,  to  show  my  superiority  over  the 
whole  bevy  of  beauties  competing  for  his  hand.  There  is  not 
a  girl  in  (Quebec  but  would  run  away  with  him  tomorrow." 

"  Fie,  Angelique  !  such  a  libel  upon  our  sex !  You  know 
better.     Jiut  you  cannot  love  him  ?  " 

"  Love  him  ?  No  !  "  Angelique  repeated  the  denial  scorn- 
fully. "  Love  him  !  I  never  thought  of  love  and  him 
together !  He  is  not  handsome,  like  your  brother  Le 
Gardeur,  who  is  my  beau-ideal  of  a  man  I  could  love ;  nor 
has  the  intellect  and  nobility  of  Colonel  Philibert,  who  is 
my  model  of  a  heroic  man.  I  could  love  such  men  as 
them.  But  my  ambition  would  not  be  content  with  less 
than  a  governor  or  royal  intendant  in  New  France.  In 
eld  France  1  would  not  put  up  with  less  than  the  Kint; 
himself ! " 

Ange'lique  laughed  at  her  own  extravagance,  but  she 
believed  in  it  all  the  same.  Amelie,  though  shocked  at  her 
wildness,  could  not  help  smiling  at  her  folly. 

"Have  you  done  raving?"  said  she;  "I  have  no  right 
to  question  your  selection  of  a  lover  or  doubt  your  power, 
Angelique.  But  are  you  sure  there  exists  no  insurmountable 
obstacle  to  oppose  these  high  aspirations  ?  It  is  whispered 
that  the  Intendant  has  a  wife,  whom  he  keeps  in  the  seclu- 
sion of  Jjeaumanoir.     Is  that  true  ?  " 

The  words  burnt  like  fire.  Angelique's  eyes  flashed  out 
daggers.  She  clenched  her  delicate  hands  until  her  nails 
drew  blood  from  her  velvet  palms.  Her  frame  quivered 
with  suppressed  passion.  She  grasped  her  companion 
fiercely  by  the  arm,  exclaiming,  —  "You  have  hit  the  secret 
now,  Amelie  !  It  was  to  speak  of  that  I  sought  you  out 
this  morning,  for  I  know  you  are  wise,  discreet,  and  every 


way  better  tha 
loo.  Amelie. 
with  pointed 
but  that  he  ht 
talked  of  and  h 
(»t  nie.     I  was 
discs,  when  a 
that  a  woman, 
forest  of  Beaui 
out  hunting  wi 
a  few  Indians 
The  woman  wi 
on  a  couch  of 
Hurons  led  the 

"  Don't  inter 
let  me  go  on  ! 
inmly  in  her  la 

"The  Intern 
ai)parition  of  t 
Abenaquais  in 
the  Hurons.     ^ 
explanation,  he 
her   by   name, 
recognizing  the 
i'ranrois ! '  and 

"  The  Chevi 
bantling,  in  the 
to  him.  He  g 
talked  with  he 
avail,  for  the  ^ 
I'lench,  which 
niinht  kill  and 
return  home  an 

Angelique  sc 
recital. 

"  The  Inteni 
fear  of  her,  cea: 
of  gold  to  the  I- 
Indians  kissed 
and  with  many 
attended  by  Bij 


CONFIDENCES. 


43 


way  better  than  I.  It  is  all  true  what  I  have  said,  and  more 
too,  Anielie.  Listen  !  The  Intendant  has  made  love  to  me 
with  pointed  gallantry  that  could  have  no  other  meaning 
l)iit  tiiat  he  honorably  sought  my  hand.  He  has  made  me 
talked  of  and  hated  by  my  own  sex,  who  envied  his  preference 
of  me.  I  was  living  in  the  most  gorgeous  of  fool's  para- 
dises, when  a  bird  brought  to  my  ear  the  astounding  news 
that  a  woman,  beautiful  as  Diana,  had  been  found  in  the 
forest  of  Jieaumanoir  bv  some  Hurons  of  Lorette,  who  were 
out  hunting  with  the  Intendant.  She  was  accompanied  by 
a  few  Indians  of  a  strange  tribe,  the  Abenaquais  of  Acadia. 
The  woman  was  utterly  exhausted  by  fatigue,  and  lay  asleep 
on  a  couch  of  dry  leaves  under  a  tree,  when  the  astonished 
Hurons  led  the  Intendant  to  the  spot  where  she  lay. 

"Don't  interrupt  me,  Amelie ;  I  see  you  are  amazed,  but 
let  me  go  on !  "  She  held  the  hands  of  her  companion 
iirinly  in  her  lap  as  she  proceeded : 

"The  Intendant  was  startled  out  of  all  composure  at  the 
apparition  of  the  sleeping  lady.  He  spoke  eagerly  to  the 
Abenaquais  in  their  own  tongue,  which  was  unintelligible  to 
the  Hurons.  When  he  had  listened  to  a  few  words  of  their 
explanation,  he  ran  hastily  to  the  lady,  kissed  her,  called 
her  by  name,  '  Caroline ! '  She  woke  up  suddenly,  and 
recognizing  the  Intendant,  embraced  him,  crying  '  Francois  ! 
Kranrois ! '  and  fainted  in  his  arms. 

"  The  Chevalier  was  profoundly  agitated,  blessing  and 
baiming,  in  the  same  breath,  the  fortune  that  had  led  her 
to  him.  He  gave  her  wine,  restored  her  to  consciousness, 
talked  with  her  long,  and  sometimes  angrily ;  but  to  no 
avail,  for  the  woman,  in  accents  of  despair,  exclaimed  in 
luench,  which  the  Hurons  understood,  that  the  Intendant 
might  kill  and  bury  her  there,  but  she  would  never,  never 
return  home  any  more." 

Angelique  scarcely  took  breath  as  she  continued  her  eager 
recital. 

"  The  Intendant,  overpowered  either  by  love  of  her  or 
fear  of  her,  ceased  his  remonstrances.  He  gave  some  pieces 
of  gold  to  the  Abenaquais,  and  dismissed  them,  'i'he  strange 
Indians  kissed  her  on  both  hands  as  they  would  a  queen. 
and  with  many  adieus  vanished  into  the  forest.  The  lady, 
attended  by  Bigot,  remained  seated  under  the  tree  till  night- 


44 


Tin:    GOLDEN'    DOfl. 


fall,  when  he  conducted  her  secretly  to  the  Chateau,  where 
she  still  remains  in  perfect  seclusion  in  a  secret  chamber, 
they  say,  and  has  been  seen  by  none  save  one  or  two  of  the 
Intendant's  most  intimate  companions." 

"  Heavens  !  what  a  tale  of  romance  !  How  learned  you 
all  this,  Angelique  ?  "  exclaimed  Amelie,  who  had  listened 
with  breathless  attention  to  the  narrative. 

"Oh,  partly  from  a  hint  from  a  Huron  girl,  and  the  rest 
from  the  Intendant's  Secretary.  Men  cannot  keep  secrets 
that  women  are  interested  in  knowing!  I  could  make  De 
Pean  talk  the  Intendant's  head  off  his  shoulders,  if  1  had 
him  an  hour  in  my  confessional,  liut  all  my  ingenuity  could 
not  extract  from  him  what  he  did  not  know  —  who  that  mys- 
terious lady  is,  her  name  and  family." 

"  Could  the  Huron  hunters  give  no  guess  ?  "  asked  Amelie, 
thoroughly  interested  in  Angelique's  story. 

"  No.  They  learned  by  signs,  however,  from  the  Abe- 
naquais,  that  she  was  a  lady  of  a  noble  family  in  Acadia  which 
had  mingled  its  patrician  blood  with  that  of  the  native  chiefs 
and  jDossessors  of  the  soil.  The  Abenaquais  were  chary  of 
their  information,  however :  they  would  only  say  she  was  a 
great  white  lady,  and  as  good  as  any  saint  in  the  calendar." 

''  1  would  give  five  years  of  my  life  to  know  who  and  what 
that  woman 'is  !  "  Angelique  added,  as  she  leaned  over  the 
parapet,  gazing  intently  at  the  great  forest  that  lay  beyond 
Charlebourg,  in  which  was  concealed  the  Chateau  of  Beau- 
manoir." 

"  Jt  is  a  strange  mystery.  But  I  would  not  seek  to  unravel 
it,  Angelique,"  remarked  Amelie,  "I  feel  there  is  sin  in  it. 
Do  not  touch  it:  it  will  only  bring  mischief  upon  you  if 
you  do  !  " 

"  Mischief !  So  be  it !  But  I  will  know  the  worst !  The 
Intendant  is  deceiving  me  !  Woe  be  to  him  and  her  if  I  am 
to  be  their  intended  victim  !  Will  you  not  assist  me,  Amelie, 
to  discover  the  truth  of  this  secret?" 

"  J  ?  how  can  I  ?  I  pity  you,  Angelique,  but  it  were  better 
to  leave  this  Intendant  to  his  own  devices." 

"  Vou  can  very  easily  help  me  if  you  will.     Le  Gardeur 
must  know  this  secret.     He  must  have  seen  the  woman  - 
but  he  is  angry  with  me,  for  —  for — slighting  him  —  as  he 
thinks  —  but  he  was  wrong.     I  could  not  avow  to  him  my 


jealousy  in  th 
ine,  and  angri 
infatuated  — 
Oh,  Amelie,  I 

*•  And  I  re 
Lc  (lardeur  oi 
to  reHect,  and 

*'()h,  pray 
1  know  you  wi 
orable.      But 
the  price  of  a 
discover  all  I 
we  love  them 

Amelie,  pity 
of  her  old  sch 
fro  in  the  bast 
liishop  and  Fa 

"Quick,"  Si 
compose  your 
—  Father  de  IJ 

Angelique  j: 
wonderful  pov 
moment  into  i 
saluted  the  Li 
frankest  mann( 
and  laughter  w 

"  She  could 
company,"  she 
She  kissed  the 
de  Tilly,  and  \ 
leaped  nimbly 
iiorses  like  a  p 
down  the  cro\ 
observers,  the 
women  as  she 

Amelie  and 
meal  distributi 
home  —  their 
in  the  capital. 


CONFIDENCES. 


45 


jealousy  in  this  matter.  He  told  me  just  enouj^h  to  madden 
me,  and  angrily  refused  to  tell  the  rest  when  he  saw  ine  so 
infatuated  -  he  called  it  —  over  other  people's  love  affairs. 
Oh,  Amelie,  Le  Gardeur  will  tell  you  all  if  you  ask  him  !  " 

"And  I  repeat  it  to  you,  Angeli(|ue,  I  cannot  ([uestion 
Le  (lardeur  on  such  a  hateful  topic.  \t  any  rate  1  need  time 
to  reflect,  and  will  pray  to  be  guided  right." 

"Oh,  pray  not  at  all !  If  you  pray  you  will  ne\er  aid  me  ! 
1  know  you  will  say  the  end  is  wicked  and  the  means  dishon- 
orable. IJut  find  out  1  will  —  antl  speedily!  It  will  only  be 
the  price  of  another  dance  with  the  C"he\'alier  de  I'ean,  to 
discover  all  I  want.  What  fools  men  are  when  they  believe 
we  love  them  for  their  sakes  and  not  for  our  own  !  " 

Ame'lie,  pitying  the  wild  humors,  as  she  regarded  them, 
of  her  old  school  companion,  took  her  arm  to  walk  to  and 
fro  in  the  bastion,  but  was  not  sorrv  to  see  her  aunt  and  the 
Bishop  and  Father  de  IJerey  approaching. 

"(^uick,"  said  she  to  Angeliciue,  "  .-.moolh  your  hair,  and 
compose  your  looks.  Here  comes  my  aunt  ami  the  Bishop 
—  Father  de  IJerey  too  !  " 

Angelique  prepared  at  once  to  meet  them,  and  v.ith  her 
wonderful  power  of  adaptation  transformed  herself  in  a 
moment  into  a  merry  creature,  all  light  and  gaiety.  She 
saluted  the  Lady  de  I'illy  and  the  reverend  liishop  in  the 
frankest  manner,  and  at  once  accepted  an  interchange  of  wit 
and  laughter  with  Father  de  IJerey. 

"She  could  not  remain  long,  however,  in  the  Church's 
company,"  she  said,  "  she  had  her  morning  calls  to  finish." 
She  kissed  the  cheek  of  Ame'lie  and  the  hand  of  the  Lady 
de  Tilly,  and  with  a  coquettish  courtesy  to  the  gentlemen, 
leaped  nimbly  into  her  caleche,  whirled  round  her  spirited 
horses  like  a  practised  charioteer,  and  drove  with  rapid  pace 
down  the  crowded  street  of  St.  John,  the  observed  of  all 
ol)servers,  the  admiration  of  the  men  and  the  envy  of  the 
women  as  she  flashed  by. 

Ame'lie  and  the  Lady  de  Tilly,  having  seen  a  plenteous 
meal  distributed  among  their  people,  proceeded  to  their  city 
home- — their  seigniorial  residence,  when  they  chose  to  live 
in  the  capital. 


CHAPTER   V. 


THE    ITINERANT    NOTARY. 


.i  1  .!' 


MASTER  Jean  Le  Nocher  the  sturdy  ferryman's  patience 
liad  been  severely  tried  for  a  few  days  back,  passing; 
the  troops  of  habitans  over  the  St.  Charles  to  the  city  ol 
Quebec.  Reing  on  the  King's  ivnrr,  they  claimed  the  pri\i 
lege  of  all  persons  in  the  royal  service :  they  travelled  toll- 
free,  and  paid  Jean  with  a  nod  or  a  jest  in  place  of  the 
small  coin  which  that  worthy  used  to  exact  on  ordinary 
occasions. 

This  morning  had  begun  auspiciously  for  Jean's  teniper 
however.  A  King's  otficer,  on  a  gray  charger,  had  jusl 
crossed  the  ferry;  and  without  claiming  the  exemption  from 
toll  which  was  the  right  of  all  wearing  the  King's  uniform, 
the  officer  had  paid  Jean  more  than  his  fee  in  solid  coin  and 
rode  on  his  way,  after  a  few  kind  words  to  the  ferryman 
and  a  polite  salute  to  his  wife  l^abet,  who  stood  courtesyini; 
at  the  door  of  their  cottage. 

"  A  noble  gentleman  that,  and  a  real  one !  "  exclaimed 
Jean,  to  his  buxom,  pret<y  wife,  "and  as  generous  as  a 
prince !  See  what  he  has  given  me."  Jean  flipped  up 
a  piece  of  silver  admiringly,  and  then  tlirew  it  into  the  apron 
of  Babet,  which  she  spread  out  to  catch  it. 

HabeL  rubbed  the  silver  piece  cares^:ingly  between  her 
fingers  and  upon  her  cheek.  "  It  is  easy  to  see  that  hand- 
some otficer  is  from  the  C'astle,''  said  IJabet,  "and  not  from 
the  Palace  —  and  so  nice-looking  he  is  too,  wit'i  such  a 
sparkle  in  his  eye  and  a  |)leasant  smile  on  liis  mo'.Uh.  IIo 
is  as  good  as  he  looks,  or  I  am  no  judge  of  men." 

"  And  you  are  an  excellent  judge  of  men,  I  know,  Habet," 
he  re])lied,  "or  you  would  never  have  taken  me!"  Jean 
chuckled  richly  over  his  own  wit,  which  Ikibet  nodded  lively 
ap'Toval  to.  "  Ves,  1  know  ;i  hawk  from  a  handsaw,"  rr- 
plied  iJabet,  "and  a  woman  who  is  as  wise  as  tliat  will  neve 

46 


THE    ITINERANT    NOTARY. 


47 


mistake  a  gentleman,  Jean !     I  have  not  seen  a  handsomer 
officer  than  that  in  seven  years  !  " 

"  He  is  a  pretty  fellow  enough,  I  dare  say,  Babet ;  who 
can  he  be?  He  rides  like  a  field -marshal  too,  and  that 
gray  horse  has  ginger  in  his  heels  !  "  remarked  Jean,  as  the 
officer  was  riding  at  a  rapid  gallop  up  the  long,  white  road 
of  Charlebourg.  "  He  is  going  to  Jkaumanoir,  l)elike,  to  see 
the    Koyal  Jntendant,  who  has  not  returned  yet    from    his 


liinling  party, 


"Whither  they  went  three  days  ago,  to  enjoy  themselves 
in  the  chase  and  drink  themselves  blind  in  the  Chateau 
while  everybody  else  is  summoned  to  the  city  to  work  upon 
the  walls  !"  replied  llabet,  scornfully.  "I'll  be  bound  that 
officer  has  gone  to  order  the  gay  gallants  of  the  I'riponne 
back  to  the  city  to  take  their  share  of  work  with  honest 
people." 

"Ah!  the  Friponne!  The  Friponne !  "  ejaculated  Jean. 
"  Tiie  foul  fiend  fiy  away  with  the  Friponne !  My  ferry- 
boat is  laden  every  day  with  the  curses  of  the  habitans  re- 
turning from  the  Friponne,  where  they  cheat  worse  than  a 
Hasque  pedler,  and  without  a  grain  of  his  politeness  !  " 

The  FriponiK",  as  it  was  styled  in  popular  parlance,  was 
the  immense  magazine  established  by  the  Grand  Company 
of  Traders  in  New  trance.  It  claimed  a  monopoly  in  the 
purchase  and  sale  of  all  imports  and  exports  in  the  Colony. 
Its  privileges  were  based  upon  royal  ordinances  and  decrees 
of  the  Intendant,  and  its  rights  enforced  in  the  most  arbi- 
trary manner  —  and  to  the  prejudice  of  every  other  mercan- 
tile interest  in  the  C'olony.  As  a  natural  consequence  it  was 
cordially  hated,  and  richly  deserved  the  maledictions  which 
generally  accompanied  the  mention  of  the  Friponne  —  the 
swindle — a  rougli  and  ready  epithet  which  sufficiently  indi- 
cated the  feeling  of  the  people  whom  it  at  once  cheated  and 
oppressed. 

"They  say,  Jean,"  continued  Ikibet,  her  mind  running 
ill  a  very  practical  and  womanly  way  upon  the  price  of  com- 
modities and  good  bargains,  "  they  say,  Jean,  that  the  i^)Our- 
geois  IMiilibert  will  not  give  in  like  the  other  merchants. 
He  sets  the  Intendant  at  defiance,  and  continues  to  buy  and 
sell  in  his  own  comptoir  as  he  has  always  done,  in  spite  of 
the  h'riponne." 


48 


THK    GOLDEN    DOG. 


"  Yes,  Isabel !  that  is  what  they  say.  But  I  would  rather  I 
he  stood  in  his  own  shoes  than  I  in  them  if  he  is  to  fight  I 
this  Intendant —  who  is  a  Tartar,  they  say." 

"  Pshaw,   J  ear'  !   you   have   less  courage  than   a    woman. 
All  the  women  are  on  the  side  of  the  good  I)Ourgeois:  he  i.s| 
an  honest    merchant  -  sells  cheaj),  and    cheats    nobody!" 
IJabet  looked  down  very  complacently  upon  her  new  gowiij 
which  had  been  purchased  at  a  great  bargain  at  the  maga- 
zine of  the   Dourgeois.     She  felt  rather  the  more  inclined  lo 
take    this    view    of    the    question    inasmuch     as    Jean    hadl 
grumbled,    just    a    little  —  he  would  not  do  more  —  at    his 
wife's  vanity  in  buying  a  gay  dress  of  French  fabric,  like  a 
city  dame,  while  all  the  women  of  the  parish  were  wearing 
homespun, —  grogram,  or  linsey-woolsey, —  whether  at  church 
or  market. 

Jean  had  not  the  iieart    to  say  another  word    to    Babet] 
about  the   French  gown.     In  truth,  he  thought  she  looked] 
very  pretty  in  it,  better  than  in  grogram  or  in  linsey-woolsey, 
although    at  double  the  cost.      He  only   winked  knowingly  I 
at  IJabet,  and  went  on  ^o  speaking  of  the  1  bourgeois. 

"They  say  the  King  has  long  hands,  i)iit  this  Intendant] 
has  claws  longer  than  Satan.  There  will  be  trouble  by  and 
by  at  the  Golden  Dog —  mark  that,  l>abet!  It  was  only  the 
other  day  the  Intendant  was  conversing  with  the  Sieur  Cadet 
as  they  crossed  the  fe'.ry.  They  forgot  me,  or  thought  I  did 
not  hear  them  ;  but  I  had  my  ears  open,  as  1  always  have. 
I  heard  something  said,  and  I  hope  no  harm  will  come  lo| 
the  good  Hourgeois,  that  is  all !  " 

"  I  don't  know  where  Christian  folk  would  deal  if  anything  I 
happened  him,"  said   Habet,  reflectively.     "  VVe  always  get! 
civility  and  good  pennyworths  at  the  Golden  Dog.      Some  of 
the  lying  cheats  of  the   Friponne  talked  in  my  hearing  one  I 
day  about  his  being  a   Huguenot.      lUit   how  can   that   be, 
Jean,  when  he  gives  the  best  weight  and  the  longest  measure 
of  any  merchant  in  Quebec?     Religion  is  a  just  yard  wand, 
that  is  my  lielief,  Jean  !  " 

Jean  rubbed  his  head   with   a  peri)lexed  air.     "1   do  not 
know  whether  he  be  a  Huguenot,  nor  what  a    Huguenot  is, 
The  Cure  one  day  said  he  was  a  Jansenist    on    all    four.s 
which  I  suppose  is  the  same  thing,  iiabet  —  and  it  does  niit| 
concern  either  you  or  me.      l!ul  a  merchant  who  is  a  gentle- 


jiuan  and  kind 
Ihonest  weight,  J 
lenough  for  me. 
land  the  word  of 
"The  Cure  m 
|l5abet,  "  but  the 


[good 


liourgeois 


not  a  house  in  < 
the  habitans,  t!i; 
as  one  gets  ther 

"  Ay,  Babet ! 
with  a  woman. 

'*  And  with  a 
do  his  marketii 
here?"     Babet 

A  number  of 
to  seek  a  passag 

"They  are  Ik 
"  I  know  them  ; 
free,  every  man 
jjass  them  over 
works  for  nothin 

jean  stepped 
country  fellows, 
Le  Nocher's  inc; 
extra  boat  these 
it,  laughed,  and 
stoutly  performs 
landing  them  on 

Meantime  the 
rapidly  up  the 
side  of  the  moui 
old  church,  surn 
ringing  melodioi 

The  sun  was 
landscape.  'l'h( 
trees,  shrubs,  ar 
weio  dressed  wi 

'I'he  wide,  opi 
for  harvest,  stre 
Slight  ditches  o 


THE    ITINKKANT    NOTARY. 


49 


iiiian  and  kind  to  poor  folk,  and  gives  just  measure  and 
[honest  weight,  speaks  truth  and  harms  nobody,  is  Christian 
lenough  for  me.  A  bishop  could  not  trade  more  honestly ; 
land  the  word  of  the  IJourgeois  is  as  reliable  as  a  king's.'' 

"The  Cure  may  call  the  Bourgeois  what  he  likes,"  replied 
llJabet,  "  but  there  is  not  another  Christian  in  the  city  if  tiiC 
Igood  bourgeois  be  not  one ;  and  next  the  Church  there  is 
Inol  a  house  in  Quebec  better  known  or  better  liked  by  all 
the  habitans,  tlian  the  Golden  Uog;  and  such  bargains  too, 
las  one  gets  there  !  " 

"  Ay,  IJabet !  a  good  bargain  settles  many  a  knotty  point 
hvith  a  woman." 

'*  And  with  a  man  too,  if  he  is  wise  enough  to  let  his  wife 
[do  his  marketing,  as  you  do.  Jean  !  lUit  whom  have  we 
Ihcre?"     Dabet  set  her  arms  akimbo  and  gazed. 

A  number  of  hnrdy  fellows  came  down  towards  the  ferry 
[to  seek  a  passage. 

"They  are  honest  habitans  of  St.  Anne,"  replied    jean. 

|"1  know  them  ;  they  too  are  on  the  King's  corvee^  and  travel 

free,  every  man  of  them!     So  I  must  cry  Vh'c  !c  Koi !  and 

pass  them  over  to  the  city.      It  is  I'ke  a  holiday  when  one 

works  for  nothing  !  " 

Jean  stepped  nimbly  into  his  boat,  followed  by  the  rough 
country  fellows,  who  amused  themselves  by  joking  at  Jean 
Le  Nocher's  increasing  trade  and  the  need  of  putting  on  an 
extra  boat  these  stirring  times.  Jean  put  a  good  face  upon 
it,  laughed,  and  retorted  their  quips,  and  plying  his  oars, 
stoutly  performed  his  part  in  the  King's  corvee  by  safely 
landing  them  on  the  other  shore. 

Meantime  the  officer  who  had  lately  crossed  the  ferry  rode 
rapidly  up  the  long,  straight  highway  that  led  up  on  the 
side  of  the  mountain  to  a  cluster  of  white  cottages  and  an 
old  church,  surmounted  by  a  belfry  whose  sweet  bells*  were 
ringing  melodiously  in  the  fresh  ;iir  of  the  morning. 

The  sun  was  pouring  a  flood  of  goklcn  light  over  the 
landscape.  Tiic  still  glittering  dewdrops  hung  upon  the 
trees,  shrubs,  and  long  points  of  grass  by  the  wayside.  All 
were  dressed  with  jewels  to  grt'ct  the  rising  king  of  day. 

The  wide,  open  fields  of  meadow,  and  corn-fields.  ri|)ening 
for  harvest,  stretched  far  away,  iini)r()kcn  by  hedge  or  fL-nce. 
Slight  ditches  or  banks  of  turf,  covered  with  nests  of  violets, 


50 


THE    (iOLDf^N    nOG. 


ferns,  and  wild  flowers  of  every  hue,   separated  contiguous 
fields.     No  other  division  seemed  necessary  in  the  mutual  [ 
good    neighborhood    that    prevailed    among   the  colonists, 
whose  fashion  of  agriculture  had  been  brought,  with  many 
hardy  virtues,  from  the  old  plains  of  Normandy. 

White-walled,  red-roofed  cottages,  or  more  substantial! 
farmhouses,  stood  conspicuously  in  the  green  fields,  or 
peered  out  of  embow-ering  orchards.  Their  casements  were 
open  to  catch  the  balmy  air,  while  in  not  a  few  the  sound  of 
clattering  hoofs  on  the  hard  road  drew  fair  faces  to  the  win- 
dow or  door,  to  look  inquisitively  after  the  officer  wearing 
the  white  plume  in  his  military  chapeau,  as  he  dashed  by 
on  the  gallant  gray. 

Those  who  caught  sight  of  him  saw  a  man  worth  seeing  - 
tall,  deep-chested,  and  erect.  His  Norman  features,  without 
being  perfect,  were  handsome  and  manly.  Steel-blue  eyes, 
solidly  set  under  a  broad  forehead,  looked  out  searchingly 
yet  kindly,  while  his  well-formed  chin  and  firm  lips  gave  an 
air  of  resolution  to  his  whole  look  that  accorded  perfectly 
with  the  brave,  loyal  character  of  Colonel  Philibert.  lie 
wore  the  royal  uniform.  His  auburn  hair  he  wore  tied  with 
a  black  ribbon.  His  good  taste  discarded  perukes  and 
powder,  although  very  much  in  fashion  in  those  days. 

It  was  long   since  he   had  travelled   on  the  highway  of  I 
Charlebourg,  and  he  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  beauty  of  the| 
road  he  traversed.     \]\xt  behind  him,  as  he  knew,  lay  a  mag- 
nificent spectacle,  the  sight  of  the  great  promontory  of  Que- 
bec, crowned  with  its  glorious  fortifications  and  replete  with 
the  proudest  memories  of  North  America.     More  than  once 
the  young  soldier  turned  his  steed,  and  halted  a  moment  or  j 
two   to  survev  the  scene  with  enthusiastic  admiration.     It 
was  his  native  city,  and  the  thought  that  it  was  threatened 
by  the  national  enemy  roused,  like  an  insult  offered  to  the 
mother  that  bore  him.      He  rode  onward,   more  than  ever 
impatient  of  delay,  and  not  till  he  passed  a  cluster  of  elm 
trees  which  reminded  him  of  an  adventure  of  his  youth,  did 
the  sudden   heat  pass  away,  caused  by  the  thought  of  tlie 
threatened   invasion. 

Under  these  trees  he  remembered  that  he  and  his  school 
companion,  Le  (lardeur  de  Repentigny,  had  once  taken  refui];e 
during   a  violent  storm.     The   tree   they   stood  under  was 


shattered  by  a 
few  minutes,  an 
death.     Neither 

A  train  of  tl 
Philibert  startec 
memory  fiew  ba 
Tilly,  and  the 
fancy  and  filled 
meats    to    win 
thousand  pictun 
worshipped  he 
that  day  when 
him  in  a  passic 
pray  for  him  tc 

The  imaginat 
romantic  vision.'- 
nence,  visions 
of  love. 

The  world  is 
sioned  hearts,  ai 
words  linked  in 
lop;ic.     The  hea; 
with  its  reasonii 
mankind. 

Pierre  Philibe 
five  imagination, 
of  sense,  schoole 
tions  and  respon 

His  love  for  2 
Its  roots  reachec 
mingled,  conscio 
ami  plans  of  li 
\'ears  of  absenct 
ties  and  as.sociai 
him  in  the  mini 
delights.  He  e: 
her  in  the  city  u 
of  the  Colony  ar 
vented  his  renev 
of  Tilly. 

The  old-fashi 


THE    ITINERANT    NOTARY. 


51 


shiitteied  by  a  thundeiljolt.  They  were  both  stivned  for  a 
few  minutes,  and  knew  they  had  had  a  narrow  escape  from 
death.     Neither  of  them  ever  forj^ot  it. 

A  train  of  thoughts  never  long  alDsent  from  the  mind  of 
PhiHbert  started  up  vividly  at  the  sight  of  these  trees.  His 
memory  flew  back  to  Le  (iardeur  and  the  Manor  House  of 
Tilly,  and  the  fair  young  girl  who  captivated  his  boyish 
fancy  and  filled  his  youth  with  dreams  of  glorious  achieve- 
ments to  win  her  smiles  and  do  her  honor.  Among  a 
thousand  pictures  of  her  hung  up  in  his  mind  and  secretly 
worshipped  he  loved  that  which  presented  her  likeness  on 
that  day  when  he  saved  her  brother's  life  and  she  kissed 
liiin  in  a  passion  of  joy  and  gratitude,  vowing  she  would 
pray  for  him  to  the  end  of  her  life. 

The  imagination  of  Pierre  Philibert  had  revelled  in  the 
romantic  visions  that  haunt  e\'ery  boy  destined  to  promi- 
nence, visions  kindled  by  the  eye  of  woman  and  the  hope 
of  love. 

The  world  is  ruled  l:)y  such  dreams,  dreams  of  impas- 
sioned hearts,  and  iniprovisati(jns  of  warm  lips,  not  by  cold 
words  linked  in  chains  of  iron  sequence,  —by  love,  not  by 
lop;ic.  The  heart  with  its  passions,  not  the  understanding 
with  its  reasoning,  sways,  in  the  long  run,  the  actions  of 
mankind. 

Pierre  Philibert  possessed  that  rich  gift  of  nature,  a  crea- 
tive imagination,  in  addition  to  the  solid  judgment  of  a  man 
of  sense,  schooled  by  experience  and  used  to  the  considera- 
tions and  responsibilities  of  weighty  affairs. 

His  love  for  Amelie  de  Repentigny  had  grown  in  secret. 
Its  roots  reached  down  to  the  very  depths  of  his  being.  It 
mingled,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  with  all  his  motives 
and  plans  of  life,  and  yet  his  hopes  were  not  sanguine. 
\'ears  of  absence,  he  remembered,  work  forgetfulness.  New 
lies  and  associations  might  ha\e  wiped  out  the  memory  of 
him  in  the  mind  of  a  young  girl  fresh  to  society  and  its 
delights.  He  experienced  a  disai)[)()intincnt  in  not  finding 
her  in  the  city  upon  his  return  a  fi'w  days  ago,  and  the  state 
of  the  Colony  and  the  stress  of  military  duty  had  so  far  pre- 
\eiitod  ills  renewing  his  acquaintance  with  the  Manor  House 
of  'j-illy. 

The  old-fashioned  hostelry  of  the  Couronne  de    France, 


52 


THE    r.OLDKN    DOG, 


with  its  high-pitched  roof,  pointed  gables,  and  broad  gallery, 
stood  directly  opposite  the  rustic  church  and  tall  belfry  of] 
Cliarlebourg,  not  as  a  rival,  but  as  a  sort  of  adjunct  to  the 
sacred  edifice.  The  sign  of  the  crown,  bright  with  gilding, 
swung  from  the  low,  projecting  arm  of  a  maple-tree,  thick 
with  shade  and  rustling  with  the  beautiful  leaves  of  tlie 
emblem  of  Canada.  A  few  rustic  seats  under  the  cool  maple 
were  usually  occupied,  toward  the  close  of  the  day,  or  about 
the  ringing  of  the  Angelus,  by  a  liH.le  gathering  of  parish- 
ioners from  the  village,  talking  over  the  news  of  the  day,  the 
progress  of  the  war,  the  ordinances  of  the  Intendant,  or  the 
exactions  of  the  Friponne. 

On  Sundays,  after  Mass  and  Vespers,  the  habitans  of  all 
parts  of  the  extended  parish  naturally  met  and  talked  over 
the  affairs  of  the  Fabrique  —  the  value  of  tithes  for  the 
year,  the  abundance  of  Easter  eggs,  and  the  weight  of  the 
first  salmon  of  the  season,  which  was  always  presented  loj 
the  Cure  with  the  first-fruits  of  the  field,  to  ensure  thej 
blessing  of  plenty  for  the  rest  of  the  year. 

The  Reverend  Cure  frequently  mingled  in  these  discus- 
sions. Seated  in  his  accustomed  armchair,  under  the  shade 
•of  the  maple  in  summer,  and  in  winter  by  the  warm  fireside, 
he  defended,  ex  oi/Z/c/ra,  the  rights  of  the  Church,  and 
good-humoredly  decided  all  controversies.  He  found  his 
parishioners  more  amenable  to  good  advice  over  a  mug  of 
Norman  cider  and  a  pipe  of  native  tobacco,  under  the  sign 
of  the  Crown  of  France,  than  when  he  lectured  them  in  his 
best  and  most  learned  style  from  the  pulpit. 

This  morning,  however,  all  was  very  quiet  round  the  old 
inn.  The  birds  were  singing,  and  the  bees  humming  in  the 
pleasant  sunshine.  The  house  looked  clean  and  tidy,  and 
no  one  was  to  be  seen  except  three  persons  bending  over  a 
table,  with  their  heads  close  together,  deeply  absorbed  in 
whatever  business  they  were  engaged  in.  Two  of  these  poi- 
sons were  Dame  IJedard,  the  sharp  landlady  of  the  Crown 
of  1^'rance,  and  her  no  less  sharp  and  pretty  daughter,  Zoo, 
The  third  person  of  the  trio  was  an  old,  alert-lookinj^  little 
man,  writing  at  the  table  as  if  for  very  life.  He  wore  a 
tattered  black  robe,  shortened  at  the  knees  to  facilitate 
walking,  a  frizzled  wig,  looking  as  if  it  had  been  dressed 
with  a  currycomb,  a  pair   of  black   breeches,    well-patched 


Iwith  various  en 
las  the  habitans 
Ithe  professiona 
Itnivclling  notar} 
jof  the  law  whic 
I  France. 

Upon  the  tal 

Itrencher,  and  a 

Jnolary  had  desj); 

jhis  present  worl 

A  hairy  knap: 

jdisclusing   some 

I  tape,  a  tattered 

land  little  more  t 

jhis  great  names 

linen,  dirty  and 

jhis  knapsack  w 

there  in  the  est 

smelt  strong  in  t 

They  rather  prid 

travelling  notary 

The  reputatior 

[very  great  amoui. 

[parish   and    fron 

hypothecations,  i 

inents,  for  the  pt 

lection  for  law  ; 

veneration  for  wi 

1  Master  Fothier's 

rival  notary  was 

his  own,  which  h 

the  Parliament  t 

I  sharpest  advocat 

Itull  of  embryo  d 

kept  all   parlies 

I  their  days.       If 

pute  between  nt 

setting  half  the  i 

Master  Fothie 

ink,  almost  toucl 

liiiii,  as  he  wrott 


THE    ITINERANT    NOTARY. 


53 


will)  various  colors  ;  and  ganiaches  of  brown  leather,  such 
as  ilie  habitans  wore,  completed  his  odd  attire,  and  formed 
the  professional  costume  of  Master  Pothier  dit  Robin,  the 
travelling  notary,  one  of  that  not  unuseful  order  of  itinerants 
()f  tile  law  which  ilourished  under  the  old  regime  in  New 

|]''rance, 

I  pon  the  table  near  him  stood  a  black  bottle,  an  empty 

jtrencher,  and  a  thick  scatter  of  crumbs,  showing  that  the  old 
iiotary  had  despatched  a  hearty  breakfast  before  commencing 
his  present  work  of  the  pen. 

A  hairy  knapsack  lay  open  upon  the  table  near  his  elbow, 

Idisclosing  some  bundles  of  dirty  papers  tied  up  with  red 
tape,  a  tattered  volume  or  two  of  the  "  Coutiinic  dc  Paris^'' 
and  little  more  than  the  covers  of  an  odd  tome  of  Pothier, 
his  great  namesake  and  prime  authority  in  the  law.  Some 
linen,  dirty  and  ragged  as  his  law  papers,  was  crammed  into 
his  knapsack  with  them.  But  that  was  neither  here  nor 
there  in  the  estimation  of  the  habitans,  so  long  as  his  law 
smelt  strong  in  the  nostrils  of  their  opponents  in  litigation. 

I  They  rather  prided  themselves  upon  the  roughness  of  their 

j travelling  notary. 

The  reputation  of  Master  l*othier  dit  Robin  was,  of  course, 

[very  great  among  the  habitans,  as  he  travelled  from  parish  to 
parish  and  from  seigniory  to  seigniory,  drawing  bills  and 
liypothecations,  marriage  contracts  and  last  wills  and  testa- 

imcnts,  for  the  peasantry,  who  had  a  genuine  Norman  predi- 

[  lection  for  law  and  chicanery,  and  a  respect  amounting  to 
veneration  for  written  documents,  red  tape,  and  sealing-wax. 
Master  Pothier's  acuteness  in  picking  holes  in  the  actcs  of  a 
rival  notary  was  only  surpassed  by  the  elaborate  intricacy  of 
his  own,  which  he  boasted,  not  without  reason,  would  puz/le 
the  Parliament  of  Paris,  and  confound  the  ingenuity  of  the 
sharpest  advocates  of  Rouen.  Master  Pothier's  adcs  were  as 
lull  of  embryo  disputes  as  a  fig  is  full  of  seeds,  and  usually 
kept  all  parties  in  hot  water  and  litigation  for  the  rest  of 
their  days.  If  he  did  happen  now  and  then  to  settle  a  dis- 
l)ute  between  neighbors,  he  made  ample  amends  for  it  by 
selling  half  the  rest  of  the  parish  by  the  ears. 

Master  Pothier's  nose,  sharp  and  iiery  as  if  dipped  in  red 
ink,  almost  touched  the  sheet  of  pa|)er  on  the  tal)le  before 
liiiii,  as  he  wrote  down  from  the  dictation  of  Dame  IJedard 


54 


THE    G0LT3EN    DOG. 


the    articles    of    a    marriage    contract    between    her    pretty 
daughter,  Zoe,  and  Antoine  La  Chance,  the  son  of  a  coni-j 
fortable  but  keen  widow  of  Jieauport. 

Dame  Hedard  had  shrewdly  availed  herself  of  the  pres- 
ence of  Master  Pothier,  and  in  payment  of  a  night's  lodging 
at  the  Crown  of  France,  to  have  him  write  out  the  contrnet 
of  marriage  in  the  absence  of  J)ame  La  Chance,  the  mother 
of  Antoine,  who  would,  of  course,  object  to  the  insertion  of 
certain  conditions  in  the  contract  which  Dame  Ik'dard  was| 
quite  determined  upon  as  thv'^  price  of  Zoe's  hand  and  for- 
tune. 

"There!   Dame   iJe'dard !  "  cried  Master  Pothier,  sticking  I 
the  pen  behind  his  car,  after  a  magnilicent  flourish  at  the 
last  word,  "there  is  a  marriage  contract  fit  to  espouse  King 
Solomon  to  the  (^ueen  of  Sb.eba  !     A  dowry  of  a  hundred 
livres  toiirnoiscs,  two  cows,  and  a  feather  bed,  bedstead,  and] 
chest  of  linen  !      A  doiiathni  in'rc  7//s !  " 

"  A  what.''     Minster  Pothier,  !iow  mind  !  are  you  sure  that! 
is  the  right  word  of    the  ^ri»ioin'  i  ""  cried    Dame   Uedard, 
instinctively  perceiving  that  here  lay  the  very  point  of  the 
contract.      "  Vou    know    1    only  give   on   condition,   Mastcrj 
Pothier." 

"Oh,  yes!  trust   mc,    Dame    IJedard.      I   have  made  it  a  I 
donation  ent>\'  lij's,  rcvocah/c  pour  cause  (F iiii::;ratilii(l(.,  if  yonrj 
future  son-in-law,  Antoine  la  Chance,  should  fail  in  his  duty 
to  you  and  to  Zoe." 

"And  he  won't  do  his  duty  to  Zoe,  unless  he  does  it  tn| 
me.  Master  Pothier.      IJut  are  you  sure  it  is  strong  enough?] 
Will  it  hold   l)an\e  La  C'hance  l)y  the  foot,  so  that  she  can- 
not re\'()ke  her  iiifts  although  I  mav  revoke  mine?" 

"Mold   Dame    I,a  Chance  by  the  foot?      It  will  hold  hcr| 
as  fast  as  a  snajiping-turtle  does  a  frog.       fh  proof  of  it.  ^'ei 
what   Ricard  saws,   |)age  970  ,   iiere  is  the  l)oo':."      Master 
I'othier  opened  his  tatvcred  volume,  aiul  held  it  up  to  the] 
dame.     She  shook  her  head. 

"  Thanks,    I    have    mislaid    my    glasses.     Do    you    r.'atl 
please ! " 

"  Most  cheerfully,  good  dame  !     A  notary  mu.st  have  eyes  I 
for  everybody       eyes  like  a  cat's,  to  see  in  the  dark,  and 
power   to   draw  them   in   like  a  tuitle,  so  that  he  may  see] 
nothinti  that  he  does  not  want  to  see." 


THE    ITINERANT    NOTARY 


55 


"  Oh,  bless  the  eyes  of  the  notary  !  "  Dame  Be'dard  grew 
impatient.  "  Tell  me  what  the  book  says  about  gifts  revo- 
cable —  that  is  what  concerns  me  and  /oe." 

•'  Well,  here  it  is,  dame  :  '  Donations  stipulated  revocable 
at  the  pleasure  of  the  donor  are  null.  Jiut  this  condition 
does  not  apply  to  donations  by  contract  of  marriage.'  Bour- 
don also  says  —  " 

"  A  fig  for  Bourdon,  and  all  such  drones !  I  want  my 
gift  made  revocable,  and  Dame  La  Chance's  not !  I  know 
by  long  experience  with  my  dear/^«  Bedard  how  necessary 
it  is  to  hold  the  reins  tight  over  the  men.  Antoine  is  a  good 
boy,  but  he  will  be  all  the  better  for  a  careful  mother-in-law's 
supervision." 

Master  Pothier  rubbed  the  top  of  his  wig  with  his  fore- 
finger. 

"  Are  you  sure,  dame,  that  Antoine  La  Chance  will  wear 
the  bridle  easily  ?  " 

"  Assuredly  !  I  should  like  to  see  son-in-law  of  mine  who 
would  not !  Besides,  Antoine  is  in  the  humor  just  now  to 
refuse  nothing  for  sake  of  Zoe.  Have  you  mentioned  the 
children,  Master  Pothier .''  I  do  not  intend  to  let  Dame 
La  Chance  control  the  children  any  more  than  Zoe  and 
Antoine." 

"  1  have  made  you  tntricc  perpctuellc^  as  we  say  in  the 
court,  and  here  it  is,"  said  he,  placing  the  tip  of  his  finger 
on  a  certain  line  in  the  document. 

Zoe  looked  down  and  blushed  to  her  finger-ends.  She 
presently  rallied,  and  said  with  some  spirit,  —  "  Never  mind 
tliem,  Master  Pothier  !  Don't  put  them  in  the  contract ! 
Let  Antoine  have  something  to  say  about  them.  He  would 
take  me  v.ithout  a  dower,  1  know,  and  time  enough  to  remind 
! 'm  about  children  when  they  come." 

"  Take  you  without  dower !  Zoe  Bedard  !  you  must  be 
mad  !  "  exclaimed  the  dame,  in  great  heat.  "  No  girl  in 
New  P'rance  can  marry  without  a  dower,  if  it  be  only  a  pot 
and  a  bedstead  !  You  forget,  too,  that  the  dower  is  given, 
not  so  much  for  you,  as  to  keep  up  the  credit  of  the  family. 
As  well  be  married  without  a  ring  !  Without  a  dower,  in- 
deed 1  " 

"  Or  without  a  contract  written  by  a  notary,  signed,  sealed, 
iunl  delivered  !  "  chimed  in  Master  Pothier. 


56 


THE    GOLDEX    DOG. 


"  Yes,  Master  Pothier,  and  I  have  promised  Zoe  a  three- 
days  wedding,  which  will  make  her  tlie  envy  of  all  the] 
parish  of  Charlebourg.  The  seigneur  has  consented  to 
give  her  away  in  place  of  her  poor  defunct  father ;  and  | 
when  he  does  that  he  is  sure  to  stand  godfather  for  all  the 
children,  with  a  present  for  every  one  of  them !  I  shall 
invite  you  too.  Master  Pothier  !  " 

Zoe  affected  not  to  hear  her  mother's  remark,  although 
she  knew  it  all  by  heart,  for  it  had  been  dinned  into  her  ears 
twenty  times  a  day  for  weeks,  and  sooth  to  say,  she  liked  to 
hear  it,  and  fully  appreciated  the  honors  to  come  from  the 
patronage  of  the  seigneur. 

Master  Pothier  pricked  up  his  ears  till  they  fairly  raised 
his  wig,  at  the  prospect  of  a  three  days  wedding  at  the 
Crown  of  France.  He  began  an  elaborate  reply,  when  a 
horse's  tramp  broke  in  upon  them  and  Colonel  Philibeit 
wheeled  up  to  the  door  of  the  hostelry. 

Master  Pothier,  seeing  an  officer  in  the  King's  uniform, 
rose  on  the  instant  and  saluted  him  with  a  profound  bow. 
while  Dame  Be'dard  and  Zoe,  standing  side  by  side,  dropped 
their  lowest  courtesy  to  the  handsome  gentleman,  as,  with 
woman's  glance,  they  saw  in  a  moment  he  was. 

Philibert  returned  their  salute  courteously,  as  he  halted 
his  horse  in  front  of  Dame  Be'dard.  "  Madame  !  "  said  he. 
"  I  thought  1  knew  all  roads  about  Charlebourg,  but  I  have 
either  forgotten  or  they  have  changed  the  road  through  the 
forest  to  Beaumanoir.     It  is  surely  altered  from  what  it  was." 

"Your  Honor  is  right,"  answered  Dame  Be'dard,  "the 
Intendant  has  opened  a  new  road  through  the  forest."  Zoe 
took  the  opportunity,  while  the  officer  looked  at  her  mother, 
to  examine  his  features,  dress,  and  equipments,  from  head 
to  foot,  and  thought  him  the  handsomest  officer  she  h;ul 
ever  seen. 

"  1  thought  it  must  be  so,"  replied  Philibert ;  "  you  are  the 
landlady  of  the  Crown  of  France,  I  presume  ? "  Dame  Bedard 
carried  it  on  her  face  as  plainly  marked  as  the  royal  emblem 
on  the  sign  over  her  head. 

''  Yes,  your  Honor,  I  am  Widow  Bedard,  at  your  service, 
and,  I  hope,  keep  as  good  a  hostelry  as  your  Honor  will  find 
in  the  Colony.  Will  your  Honor  alight  and  take  a  cup  of 
wine,  such  as  I  keep  for  guests  of  quality .'' " 


THE    ITINERANT    NOTARY. 


57 


"  Thanks,  Madame  Bedard,  1  am  in  haste  :  I  must  find 
the  way  to  IJeaumanoir.  Can  you  not  furnish  me  a  guide, 
tor  I  like  not  to  lose  time  by  missing  my  way  ?  " 

••  A  guide,  sir !  The  men  are  all  in  the  city  on  the  King's 
corvee:  /oc  could  show  you  the  way  easily  enough."  Zoe 
twitched  her  mother's  arm  nervously,  as  a  hint  not  to  say  too 
much.  She  felt  Mattered  and  fluttered  too,  at  the  thought 
of  guiding  the  strange,  handsome  gentleman  through  the 
forest,  and  already  the  question  shot  through  her  fancy, 
'•  What  might  come  of  it  .-•  Such  things  have  happened  in 
stories  !  "  Poor  Zoe  !  she  was  for  a  few  seconds  unfaithful 
to  the  memory  of  Antoine  La  Chance.  Hut  Dame  Bedard 
settled  all  surmises  by  turning  to  Master  Pothier,  who  stood 
slitf  and  upright  as  became  a  limb  of  the  law.  "  Here  is 
Master  Pothier,  your  Honor,  who  knows  every  highway  and 
byway  in  ten  seigniories.  He  will  guide  your  Honor  to 
Heaumanoir." 

••  As  easy  as  take  a  fee  or  enter  a  process,  your  Honor," 
remarked  Master  Pothier,  whose  odd  figure  had  several  times 
drawn  the  criticizing  eye  of  Colonel  Philibert. 

•'  A  fee  !  ah  !  you  belong  to  the  law^,  then,  my  good  friend  ? 
I  have  known  many  advocates — "  but  Philibert  stopped; 
he  was  too  good-natured  to  finish  his  sentence. 

"  Vou  never  saw  one  like  me,  your  Honor  was  going  to 
say  ?  True,  you  never  did.  I  am  Master  Pothier  dit  Robin, 
the  poor  travelling  notary,  at  your  Honor's  service,  ready  to 
ilraw  you  a  bond,  frame  an  acte  of  coin'ctttion  niatrimoniah\  or 
write  your  last  will  and  testament,  with  any  notary  in  New 
l-'rance.  I  can,  moreover,  guide  your  Honor  to  Beaumanoir 
as  easy  as  drink  your  health  in  a  cup  of  Cognac." 

Philibert  could  not  but  smile  at  the  travelling  notary,  and 
thinking  to  himself,  "too  much  Cognac  at  the  end  of  that 
nose  of  yours,  my  friend  !  "  which,  indeed,  looked  fiery  as 
Hardolph's,  with  hardly  a  spot  for  a  fiy  to  rest  his  foot  upon 
without  burning. 

"But  how  will  you  go,  friend  ? "  asked  Philibert,  looking 
down  at  Master  Pothier's  gamaches ;  "you  don't  look  like 
a  fast  walker." 

"Oh,  your  Plonor,"  interrupted  Dame  Be'dard,  impatiently, 
for  Zoe  had  been  twitching  her  hard  to  let  her  go.  "  Master 
I'othier  can  ride  the  old  sorrel  nag  that  stands  in  the  stable 


58 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


1! 


eating  his  head  off  for  want  of  hire.     Of  course  your  Honor] 
will  pay  livery  ?  " 

"Why,  certainly,  Madame,  and  glad  to  do  sol  So  Master | 
Pothier  make  haste,  get  the  sorrel  nag,  and  let  us  be  off." 

"  I  will  be  back  in  the  snap  of  a  pen,  or  in  the  time  I)aint| 
liedard  can  draw  that  cup  of  Cognac,  your  Honor." 

"Master  Pothier  is  quite  a  personage,  I  see,"  remarked! 
Philibert,  as  the  old  notary  shuffled  off  to  saddle  the  nag. 

"Oh,  quite,  your  Honor.  He  is  the  sharpest  notary,  they 
say,  that  travels  the  road.  When  he  gets  people  into  lau 
they  never  can  get  out.  He  is  so  clever,  everybody  saysl 
Why,  he  assures  me  that  even  the  Intendant  consults  him 
sometimes  as  they  sit  eating  and  drinking  half  the  night 
together  in  the  buttery  at  the  Chateau  !  " 

"  Really  !  I  must  be  careful  what  1  say,"  replied  Phili- 
bert, laughing,  "  or  1  shall  get  into  hot  water  !  But  here  he 
comes." 

As  he  spoke.  Master  Pothier  came  up,  mounted  on  a  raw- 
boned  nag,  lank  as  the  remains  of  a  twenty-years  lawsuit, 
Zoe,  at  a  hint  from  the  Colonel,  handed  him  a  cup  of  Cognac, 
which  he  quaffed  without  breathing,  smacking  his  lips  em- 
phatically after  it.  He  called  out  to  the  landlady,  —  "Take 
care  of  my  knapsack,  dame  !  You  had  better  burn  the  house 
than  lose  my  papers  !  Adieu,  Zoe  !  study  over  the  marriane 
contract  till  1  return,  and  1  shall  be  sure  of  a  good  dinner 
from  your  pretty  hands." 

They  set  off"  at  a  round  trot.  Colonel  Philibert,  impatient 
to  reach  IJeaumanoir,  spurred  on  for  a  while,  hardly  noticing 
the  absurd  figure  of  his  guide,  whose  legs  stuck  out  like 
a  pair  of  compasses  beneath  his  tattered  gown,  his  shaking 
head  tiireatening  dislodgment  to  hat  and  wig,  while  his 
elbows  churned  at  every  jolt,  making  play  with  the  shuffling 
gait  of  his  spavined  and  wall-eyed  nag. 


CHAPTER   VI. 


I3EAUMANUIR. 


THEY  rode  on  in  silence.  A  little  beyond  the  village 
of  Charlebouri;  they  suddenly  turned  into  the  forest  of 
Beaumanoir,  where  a  well-beaten  track,  practicable  both  for 
carriages  and  horses,  ga\e  indications  that  the  resort  of  visit- 
ors to  the  C'hateau  was  neither  small  nor  seldom. 

The  sun's  rays  scarcely  penetrated  the  sea  of  verdure 
overhead.  The  ground  was  thickly  strewn  with  leaves,  the 
memorials  of  past  summers ;  and  the  dark  green  pines 
breathed  out  a  resinous  odor,  fresh  and  invigorating  to  the 
passing  rider. 

Colonel  Philibert,  while  his  thoughts  were  for  the  most 
part  fixed  on  the  public  dangers  which  led  to  this  hasty 
visit  of  his  to  the  CJhateau  of  lieaumanoir,  had  still  an  eye 
for  the  beauty  of  the  forest,  and  not  a  squirrel  leaping,  nor 
a  bird  liuttering  among  the  branches,  escaped  his  notice  as 
he  passed  by.  Still  he  rode  on  rapidly,  and  having  got 
fairly  into  the  road,  soon  outstripped  his  guide. 

"  A  crooked  road  this  to  Peaumanoir,"  remarked  he  at 
length,  drawing  bridle  to  allow  Master  Pothier  to  rejoin 
him.  "  It  is  as  mazy  as  the  law.  I  am  fortunate,  I  am 
sure,  in  having  a  sharp  notary  like  you  to  conduct  me 
through   it." 

"Conduct  you!  Your  Honor  is  leading  me!  Hut  the 
road  to  ileaumanoir  is  as  intricate  as  the  best  case  ever 
drawn  up  by  an  itinerant  notary." 

"  Vou  seldom  ride,  Master  Pothier?"  said  Philibert, 
observing  his  guide  jolting  with  an  audible  grunt  at  every 
step  of  his  awkward  nag. 

"  Ride,  your  Honor!  N — no!  Dame  liedard  shall  call 
m^i plaisant  Rol>i>i  if  ;-,he  ever  tempts  me  again  to  mount  her 
livery  horse  —  '  if  fools  only  carried  cruppers  ! '  as  Panurge 
says." 

59 


6o 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


"  Why,  Master  Pothier  ?  "  Philibert  began  to  be  amused 
at  his  odd  guide. 

"  Why  ?  Then  1  should  be  able  to  walk  to-morrow  —  that 
is  all!  This  nag  will  finish  me.  Hiinc I  hand  hoc!  He 
is  fit  to  be  Satan's  tutor  at  the  seminary!  Hoc!  hanc  1 
hii/ic!  I  have  not  declined  my  pronouns  since  I  left  my 
accidence  at  the  High  School  of  Tours  —  not  till  to-day. 
IIuiic !  hone !  hoc !  1  shall  be  jolted  to  jelly  !  Hiinc !  hanc! 
hoc"' 

Philibert  laughed  at  the  classical  reminiscences  of  his 
guide;  but,  fearing  that  Pothier  might  fall  off  his  horse, 
which  he  straddled  like  a  hay-fork,  he  stopped  to  allow  the 
worthy  notary  to  recover  his  breath  and  temper. 

"  I  hope  the  world  appreciates  yovir  learning  and  taler:, 
and  that  it  uses  you  more  gently  than  that  horse  of  yours," 
remarked  he. 

"  Oh,  your  lionor !  it  is  kind  of  you  to  rein  up  by  the 
way.  1  find  no  fa,ult  with  the  world  if  it  find  none  with  me, 
My  phi'osophy  is  this,  that  the  world  is  as  men  make  it." 

"  As  the  old  saying  is,  — 

"  '  To  lend,  or  to  spend,  or  to  give  in, 
*Tis  a  very  good  woild  that  we  live  in  ; 
liut  to  borrow,  or  beg,  or  get  a  man's  i,-A'n, 
'Tis  tile  very  worst  world  that  ever  was  knowri.' 

And  you  consider  yourself  in  the  latter  category,  Master 
Pothier }  "  Philibert  spoke  doiibtingly,  for  a  more  self- 
complacent  face  than  hi.s  companion's  he  never  saw —  every 
wrinkle  tre»nbled  with  mirth  ;  eyes,  cheeks,  chin,  and  brows 
surrounded  that  jolly  red  nose  of  iiis  like  a  group  of  gay 
boys  round  a  bonfire. 

"Oh,  1  am  content,  your  lionor!  We  notaries  are  privi- 
leged to  wear  fiu'red  cloaks  in  the  Palais  de  Justice,  and 
black  robes  in  the  country  when  we  can  get  them  I  Look 
here  at  my  robe  of  dignity  !  "  He  held  up  the  tattered  tail 
of  his  gown  with  a  ludicrous  air.  "The  profession  of  notary 
is  meat,  drink,  and  lodging  :  every  man's  house  is  free  to 
me  his  bnd  and  board  1  share,  and  there  is  neither 
wedding,  christening,  nor  funeral,  in  ten  parishes  that  can  ^o 
on  without  me.  Oovernors  and  intendants  Hoiu'ish  and 
fall,  but  Jean    J'othier  (///   Robin,  the  itinerant   notary,  lives 


merrily :  men  n 
without  law —  a 
ours." 

"Your  profes 
marked  Philiber 

"  Indispensal) 
acfi's  the  world  \ 
hai)piness  in  Kd 

"  A  notary,  M 

"  \'es,  your  I 
estate  dc  iisis  c> 
because  there  w 
feasable  lease, 
chattel  mortgage 

"Ah  !  "  replie 
his  estate  throug 
to  break  the  lea^ 
because  he  cou 
title." 

"Hum  !  that  r 
1  have  read.  It 
in  New  France  ; 
in  a  process  for 
fortune,  we  are  o 

The  travellers 
of  Heaumanoir. 
trees  lay  spread 
steep,  wooded  i 
rustic  bridge  ra 
a  huge  cluster  o 
midst  of  which 
vanes,  Hashing  ir 

The  Chateau  ' 
and  pointed  in  t 
enough  for  defe 
the  Royal  Inten 
some  foiu'-score 
Talon,  as  a  (luie 
of  friends  or  th( 
the  cold  indilTert 
for  the  colonizati 


BEAUMANOIK. 


6i 


merrily:  men  may  do  withoiu  bread,  but  Ihey  will  not  live 
without  law — at  least,  in  this  noble,  litigious  New  Fiance  of 
ours." 

"Your  profession  seems  quite  indispensable,  then!"  re- 
marked Philibert. 

"Indispensable!  I  should  think  so!  Without  proper 
(7i-/,'s  the  world  would  soon  come  to  an  end,  as  did  Adam's 
hai)piness  in  Kden,  for  want  of  a  notary." 

'*  A  notary,  Master  Pothier  ?  " 

"  \'(:s,  your  Honor.  It  is  clear  that  Adam  lost  his  first 
estate  t/c  usis  cf  fnictibns  in  the  Garden  of  Eden,  simply 
hccause  there  was  no  notary  to  draw  up  for  him  an  inde- 
feasable  lease.  Why,  he  had  not  even  a  hail  a  c/iaptal  (a 
chattel  mortgage)  over  the  beasts  he  had  himself  named !  " 

"Ah!"  replied  Philibert,  smiling,  "  I  thought  Adam  lost 
his  estate  through  a  cunning  notary  who  persuaded  his  wife 
to  break  the  lease  he  held  ;  and  poor  Adam  lost  posse  sion 
hccause  he  could  not  find  a  second  notary  to  defend  his 
title." 

"  Hum  !  that  might  be ;  but  judgment  went  by  default,  as 
1  have  read.  It  would  be  different  now;  there  are  notaries, 
in  New  France  and  Old,  cajiable  of  beating  Lucifer  himself 
in  a  process  for  either  soul,  body,  or  estate  !  JJut,  thank 
fortune,  we  are  out  of  this  thick  forest  now." 

The  travellers  had  reached  the  other  verge  of  the  forest 
of  Heaumanoir.  A  broad  plain  dotted  with  clumps  of  fair 
trees  lay  spread  out  in  a  royal  domain,  overlooked  by  a 
sleep,  wooded  mountain.  A  silvery  brook  crossed  by  a 
rustic  bridge  ran  through  the  park.  In  the  centre  was 
a  huge  cluster  of  gardens  and  patriarchal  trees,  out  of  the 
midst  of  which  rose  ihe  steep  roof,  chimneys,  and  gilded 
vanes,  flashing  in  the  sun,  of  the  ("hateau  of  Peaumanoir. 

The  Chateau  was  a  long,  hea\  y  structure  of  stone,  gabled 
and  pointed  in  the  style  of  the  i)rececling  century  -  strong 
enough  for  defence,  and  elegant  enough  for  the  abode  of 
the  Koval  Inlendant  of  New  I''rance.  It  had  been  built, 
some  four-score  years  previouslv,  by  the  Intendant  jean 
Talon,  as  a  ([uiet  retreat  when  tired  with  the  importunities 
of  friends  or  the  pcirsecution  oi  enemies,  or  ilisgusted  with 
the  cold  indifference  of  the  Court  to  his  statesmanlike  plans 
fur  the  colonization  of  New  France. 


62 


THl'.    (;()IJ)KN    DOG. 


A  short  clislance  from  the  Chateau  rose  a  tower  of  rou,i;'i 
masonry  -  crenellaied  on  top,  and  looplioled  on  the  sides 
—  which  had  been  Iniilt  as  a  place  of  defence  and  refu^t 
durinp;  the  Indian  wars  of  the  prececUng  century.  Often 
had  tlie  prowHng  ijands  of  Iroquois  turned  away  bafiled  and 
dismayed  at  the  sight  of  the  little  fortalice  surmounted  by 
a  culverin  or  two,  which  used  to  give  the  alarm  of  invasion 
to  the  colonists  on  the  slopes  of  J>ourg  Royal,  and  to  the 
dwellers  along  the  wild  banks  of  the  Montmorency. 

Tlie  tower  was  now  disused  and  partly  dilapidated,  l)iit 
many  wonderful  tales  existed  among  the  neighboring  habi- 
tans  of  a  secret  passage  that  conununicated  with  the  vaults 
of  the  Chateau;  but  no  one  had  ever  seen  tlie  passage  - 
still  less  been  b(>ld  enough  to  explore  it  had  they  found  it. 
for  it  was  guarded  by  a  loup-:^arou  that  was  the  terror  of 
children,  old  and  young,  as  they  crowded  close  together 
round  the  blazing  lire  on  winter  nights,  and  repeated  old 
legends  of  IJrittany  and  Normandy,  altered  to  ht  the  wild 
scenes  of  the  New  World. 

Colonel  Philibert  and  Master  Polhier  rode  up  the  broad 
avenue  that  led  to  the  Chateau,  and  halted  at  the  main  gati- 
—  set  in  a  lofty  hedge  of  evergreens  cut  into  fantastic 
shapes,  after  the  fashion  of  the  I^uxembourg.  Within  the 
gate  a  vast  and  glowing  garden  was  seen  —  all  squares, 
circles,  and  polygons.  The  beds  were  laden  with  flowers 
shedding  delicious  odors  on  the  morning  air  as  it  lloated  by. 
while  the  ear  was  soothed  by  the  hum  of  bees  and  the  sonj^s 
of  birds  revelling  in  the  bright  sunshine. 

Above  the  hedge  appeared  the  tops  of  heavily-laden  fruit 
trees  brought  from  France  and  planted  by  'i'alon  —  cherries 
red  as  the  lips  of  IJreton  maidens,  i)lums  of  (iascony,  Nor- 
man apjiles,  with  pears  from  the  glorious  \alleys  of  tin' 
Rhone.  The  bending  branches  were  just  transnuiting  their 
green  unripeness  into  scarlet,  gold,  ami  purple  the  im- 
perial colors  of  Nature  wli'jn  crowned  for  the  festiva'  of 
autunui. 

A  lofty  dove-cote,  surmounted  by  a  glittering  vane,  turning 
and  Hashing  with  every  sliift  of  the  wind,  stood  near  the 
Chateau.  It  was  the  home  of  a  whole  colony  of  snow-white 
pigeons,  which  iluttered  in  and  out  of  it,  wheeled  in  circles 
round  the  tall  chimney-stacks,  or  strutted,  cooing  and  bowing 


/ 


\ 


BEAUMANOIK. 


63 


to'^elher,  on  the  high  roof  of  the  Chateau,  a  picture  of  inno- 
cence and  happiness. 

l)Ut  neither  happiness  nor  innocence  was  suggested  by 
the  look  of  the  Chateau  itself,  as  it  stood  bathed  in  bright 
sunshine.  Its  great  doors  were  close-shut  in  the  face  of  all 
i.lu;  beauty  of  the  world  without.  Its  mullioned  windows, 
that  should  have  stood  wide  open  to  let  in  the  radiance  and 
freshness  of  morning,  were  closely  blinded,  like  eyes  wickedly 
shut  against  God's  light  that  beat  upon  them,  vainly  seeking 
entrance. 

Outside  all  was  still  :  the  song  of  birds  and  the  rustle  of 
leaves  alone  met  the  eir.  Neither  man  nor  l)east  was  stirring 
to  challenge  Colonel  Philibert's  approach,  but  long  ere  he 
readied  the  door  of  the  Chateau,  a  din  of  voices  within,  a 
wild  medley  of  shouts,  song,  and  laughter,  a  clatter  of  wine- 
cups,  and  pealing  notes  of  violins  struck  him  with  amaze- 
ment and  disgust.  He  distinguished  drunken  voices  singing 
snatches  of  bacchanalian  songs,  while  now  and  then  sten- 
torian mouths  called  for  fresh  brimmers,  and  new  toasts 
were  drunk  with  uproarious  applause. 

The  C'hateau  seemed  a  very  pandemonium  of  riot  and 
revelry,  that  prolonged  the  night  into  the  day,  and  defied 
the  very  order  of  nature  by  its  audacious  disregard  of  all 
decency  of  time,  place,   and  circumstance. 

"  In  God's  name,  what  means  all  this.  Master  Pothier  .''  " 
exclaimed  Philibert,  as  they  hastily  dismounted  and,  tying 
their  horses  to  a  tree,  entered  the  broad  walk  that  led  to  the 
terrace. 

"That  concert  going  on,  your  Honor  ?  "  —  Master  Pothier 
shook  his  head  to  express  disa|)proval,  and  smiled  to  express 
his  inborn  sympathy  with  feasting  and  good-fellowship — ■ 
"that,  your  I^onor,  is  the  heel  of  the  hunt,  the  hanging  up 
of  the  antlers  of  the  stag  by  the  gay  chas.seurs  who  are 
visiting  the    Intendant!" 

"A  hunting  party,  you  mean?  'W)  think  that  men  could 
stand  such  brutishness,  even  to  please  the  Intendant  !" 

"Stand!  your  Honor.  I  wager  my  gown  that  most  of 
the  chasseurs  are  lying  under  the  table  by  this  time,  although 
hy  the  noise  they  make  it  must  be  allowed  there  are  some 
burly  fellows  upon  their  legs  yet,  who  keep  the  wine  ilowing 
like  the  cow  of  Montmorency." 


64 


THE    GOLDKN    DOG. 


"  'Tis  horrible  !  'tis  damnable  !  "  Philibert  grew  pale 
with  passion  and  struck  his  thigh  with  his  palm,  as  was  his 
wont  when  very  angry.  '•  Rioting  in  drunkenness  when  the 
Colony  demands  the  cool  head,  the  strong  arm,  and  the  true 
heart  of  every  man  among  us !  Oh,  my  country  !  my  dear 
country !  what  fate  is  thine  to  expect  when  men  like  these 
are  thy  rulers  .''  " 

"  Your  Honor  must  be  a  stranger  in  New  France  or  you 
would  not  express  such  hasty,  honest  sentiments  upon  the 
Intendant's  hospitality.  It  is  not  the  fashion,  except  amon;^ 
plain-spoken  habitans,  who  always  talk  downright  Norman. " 
Master  Pothier  looked  approvingly  at  Colonel  Philibert. 
who,  listening  with  indignant  ears,  scarcely  heeiica  hi^ 
guide. 

"  That  is  a  jolly  song,  your  Honor,"  continued  Pothier, 
waving  one  hand  in  cadence  to  a  ditty  in  praise  of  wine. 
which  a  loud  voice  was  heard  singing  in  the  Chateau,  accom- 
panied by  a  rousing  chorus  which  startled  the  very  pigeons 
on  the  roof  and  chimney-stacks.  Colonel  Philibert  recoj,'- 
nized  the  ,3ong  as  one  he  had  heard  in  the  Qiiarticr  Latin. 
during  his  student  life  in  Paris  —  he  fancied  he  recognized 
the  voice  also : 

"  '  Pour  des  vins  de  prix 

Vendons  tons  nos  livres ! 

C'est  pen  d'etre  gris, 

Amis,  soyons  ivres ! 
Hon. 

La  Faridondaine  ! 

(lai. 

La  Faridoiule  ! '  " 

A  roar  of  voices  and  a  clash  of  glasses  followed  the  re- 
frain. Master  Pothier's  eyes  winked  and  l)linked  in  sym- 
pathy. The  old  notary  stood  on  tiptoe,  with  outsjjread 
palms,  as  with  ore  rotniiiio  he  threw  in  a  few  notes  of  his 
own  to  lill  up  the  chorus. 

IMiilibert  cast  upon  his  guide  a  look  of  scorn,  biting  his 
lip  angrily.  "Go,"'  said  he,  "knock  at  the  door — it  needs 
(lod's  thunder  to  break  in  upon  that  infamous  orgie.  Sa\ 
that  Colonel  IMiilibert  brings  orders  from  His  Kxcellency 
the  (iovernor  to  the  Chevalier  Inlendant." 

"And  be  served  with  a  writ  of  ejectment!  Pardon  me! 
Be  not  angry,  sir,"  pleaded   I'olhier  supplicatingly,  "I  dare 


1 


not  knock  at  the 
side.    The  valet 
in  the  brook,  oi 
the  Philistines 
Honor.     I    couh 
heads  —  I   wish 
Master    Pothi 
I'hilibort  as  a  fr 
ears.     "Wait  ni} 
door  myself." 
steps,  and  knock 
He  tried  it  at  la 
he  pushed   it   oj: 
Colonel  Philibert 
dazzled  his  eyes 
candelabra  in  ev( 
in  vain  for  admi 
windows,  but    th( 
interior  of  the  st 
that  prolonged  t 
hours  of  day. 


REAUMANOIK. 


65 


not  knock  at  the  door  when  they  are  at  the  devil's  mass  in- 
side, 'rhe  valets  !  I  know  them  all !  They  would  duck  me 
in  the  brook,  or  drag  me  into  the  hall  to  make  sport  for 
tlie  Philistines.  And  I  am  not  much  of  a  Samson,  your 
Honor.  I  could  not  pull  the  Chateau  down  upon  their 
heads  —  I   wish   I  could  !  " 

Master  Pothier's  fears  did  not  appear  ill-grounded  to 
Philibort  as  a  fresh  burst  of  drunken  uproar  assailed  his 
ears.  "  Wait  my  return,"  said  he,  "  I  will  knock  on  the 
door  myself."  He  left  his  guide,  ran  up  the  broad  stone 
steps,  and  knocked  loudly  upon  the  door  again  and  again  ! 
He  tried  it  at  last,  and  to  his  surprise  found  it  nnlatched; 
he  pushed  it  open,  no  servitor  appearing  to  admit  him. 
Colonel  Philibert  went  boldly  in.  A  blaze  of  light  almost 
dazzled  his  eyes.  The  Chateau  was  lit  up  with  lamps  and 
candelabra  in  every  part.  The  bright  rays  of  the  sun  beat 
in  vain  for  admittance  upon  the  closed  doors  and  blinded 
windows,  but  the  splendor  of  midnight  oil  pervaded  the 
interior  of  the  stately  mansion,  making  an  artificial  night 
that  prolonged  the  wild  orgies  of  the  Intendant  into  the 
hours  of  day. 


CHAPTER   VII. 


THE    INTENDANT    BKKrr. 


THE  Chateau  of  Beaumanoir  had,  since  the  advent  of 
the  Intendant  Bigot,  been  the  scene  of  many  a  festive 
revelry  that  matched,  in  bacchanalian  frenzy,  the  wild  orgies 
of  the  Regency  and  the  present  debaucheries  of  Croisy  and 
the  pctits  appartcmcuts  of  Versailles.  Its  splendor,  its  luxury. 
its  riotous  feasts  lasting  without  intermission  sometimes  for 
days,  were  the  themes  of  wonder  and  disgust  to  the  unso- 
phisticated people  of  New  France,  and  of  endless  compari- 
son between  the  extravagance  of  the  Royal  Intendant  and 
the  simple  manners  and  inflexible  morals  of  the  Governor- 
General. 

The  great  hall  of  the  Chateau,  the  scene  of  the  gorgeous 
feasts  of  the  Intendant,  was  brilliantly  illuminated  with 
silver  lamps,  glowing  like  globes  of  sunlight  as  they  hung 
from  the  lofty  ceiling,  upon  which  was  painted  a  fresco  of 
the  apotheosis  of  Louis  XIV.,  where  the  Grand  Monarque 
was  surrounded  by  a  cloud  of  Conde's,  Orleanois,  and  Bour- 
bons, of  near  and  more  remote  consanguinity.  At  the  head 
of  the  room  hung  a  full-length  portrait  of  Marquise  do 
Pompadour,  the  mistress  of  Louis  XV.,  and  the  friend  and 
patroness  of  the  Intendant  Bigot ;  her  bold,  voluptuous 
beauty  seemed  well  fitted  to  be  the  presiding  genius  of  his 
house.  The  walls  bore  many  other  paintings  of  artistic 
and  historic  value.  The  King  and  Queen  ;  the  dark-eyed 
Montespan ;  the  crafty  Maintcnon  ;  and  the  pensive  beauty 
of  Louise  de  la  Valliere,  the  only  mistress  of  Louis  XIV, 
who  loved  him  for  his  own  sake,  and  whose  portrait,  copied 
from  this  picture,  may  still  be  seen  in  the  chapel  of  tiie 
Ursulines  of  (Quebec,  where  the  fair  Louise  is  represented 
as  St.  Thais  kneeling  at  prayer  among  the  nuns. 

The  table  in  the  great  hall,  a  masterpiece  of  workman- 
ship, was  made  of  a  dark  Canadian  wood  then  newly  intro- 

66 


duced,  and  stre 
epcrgne  of  cho 
st()(Kl  on  the  c* 
enthroned  on  ; 
dance  of  fauns 

Siher    cups 
mian  manufacti 
hrinuning  over 
and  Spain  ;  or 
down  upon  the 
caviare,  and    ot 
tal)le,  amid  vas 
fruits  of  the  Ant 

Round    tiiis 
revellers  -  -  in  th 
soiled  with    win 
eyes   red    and 
Here  and  there 
a  guest  had  fall 
the   valets,  who 
A  band  of  niusi^ 
hall,  and  filled  tl 
ing  strains  of  Lii 

At  the  head  ( 
Kran(^ois  Bigot, 
set  figure,  dark 
features  full  of  fii 
His  countenance 
pose,  even  ugly  ; 
that  drew  men's 
of  a  powerful  wil 
made  men  fear, 
chose  —  and  it  w 
islnnents  on  mei 
liis  pleasant  wit, 
women,  exercise 
learned  in  tiie  Cc 
iiiDst  plausible  ar 

lie  was  fond 
to  gambling,  anc 
lanipant  in  the 


THK    INTKNDANT    HKiOT 


6; 


duced,  and  stretched  the  length  of  the  hall.  A  massive  gold 
epcrgne  of  choicest  Italian  art,  the  gift  of  La  ronipadour, 
stood  on  the  centre  of  the  table.  It  represented  IJacchus 
enthroned  on  a  tun  of  wine,  presenting  flowing  cups  to  a 
dance  of  fauns  and  satyrs. 

Silver  cups  of  Venetian  sculpture  and  goblets  of  Bohe- 
mian manufacture  sparkled  like  stars  upon  the  brilliant  table, 
hrininiing  over  with  the  gold  and  ruby  vintages  of  l-rance 
and  Spain  ;  or  lay  overturned  amid  pools  of  wine  tliat  ran 
down  upon  the  velvet  carpet.  Dishes  of  Parmesan  cheese, 
caviare,  and  other  provocatives  to  thirst  stood  upon  the 
tal)le,  amid  vases  of  llowers  and  baskets  of  the  choicest 
fruits  of  the  Antilles. 

Round  this  magnificent  table  sat  a  score  or  more  of 
revellers  -  in  the  garb  of  gentlemen,  but  all  in  disorder  and 
soiled  with  wine  ;  their  countenances  were  inflamed,  their 
eyes  red  and  fiery,  their  tongues  loose  and  lociuacious. 
Here  and  there  a  vacant  or  overturned  chair  showed  where 
a  guest  had  fallen  in  the  debauch  and  been  carried  off  by 
the  valets,  who  in  gorgeous  liveries  waited  on  the  table. 
A  band  of  musicians  sat  up  in  a  gallery  at  the  end  of  tiie 
hall,  and  filled  the  pauses  of  the  riotous  feast  with  the  ravish- 
ing strains  of  Lulli  and  Deslouches. 

At  the  head  of  the  table,  first  in  place  as  in  rank,  sat 
Fran(;ois  Bigot,  Intendant  of  New  France.  His  low,  well- 
set  figure,  dark  hair,  small,  keen  black  eyes,  and  swarthy 
features  full  of  fire  and  animation,  bespoke  his  Gascon  blood. 
His  countenance  was  far  from  comely,  —  nay,  when  in  re- 
pose, even  ugly  and  repulsive, -but  his  eyes  were  magnets 
that  drew  men's  looks  towards  him,  for  in  them  lay  the  force 
of  a  powerful  will  and  a  depth  and  subtlety  of  intellect  that 
made  men  fear,  if  they  could  not  love  him.  Yet  when  he 
chose- — ^and  it  was  his  usual  mood — ^to  exercise  his  bland- 
ishments on  men,  he  rarely  failed  to  capti\ate  them,  while 
his  pleasant  wit,  rourtly  ways,  and  natiual  gallantry  towards 
Women,  exercised  with  the  polished  seductiveness  he  had 
learned  in  the  Court  of  Louis  .W..  made  l^'ranrois  Bigot  the 
most  plausible  and  dangerous  man  in  New  Inance. 

lie  was  fond  of  wine  and  music,  pa.ssionately  addicted 
to  gambling,  and  devoted  to  tiie  pleasant  vices  that  were 
I  am  pant  in  the  Court  of    France,  finely  educated,   able  in 


68 


TITF.    r.OT.DEN     DOG. 


the  conducl  of  affairs,  and  fertile  in  expedients  to  accom- 
plish his  ends.  Francjois  liigot  might  have  saved  New 
P'rance,  had  he  been  honest  as  he  was  clever  ;  but  he  was 
unprincipled  and  corrupt :  no  conscience  checked  his  ambi- 
tion or  his  love  of  pleasure.  He  ruined  New  France  for 
the  sake  of  himself  and  his  patroness  and  the  crowd  of 
courtiers  and  frail  beautic  who  surrounded  the  Kin-^;,  whose 
arts  and  influ-^nce  '  .?pt  '  '  n  i  i  his  hif.  h  of'fic>  despue  all  the 
eliorts  of  tK  :  //rw-ov'/v.  (,■  //.v,  tiie  good  and  true  men  of  the 
Colony,  to  remov    irini. 

lie  had  already  rn  led  ar  '  lost  the  ancient  Colony  of 
Acadia,  through  his  defraucis  .iud  malversations  as  Chief 
Connnissary  of  the  Army,  and  instead  of  trial  and  punish- 
ment, had  lately  been  exalted  to  the  higher  and  still  more 
important  office  of  Royal  Intendant  of  New  France. 

()n  the  right  of  the  Intendant  sat  his  bosom  friend,  the 
Sieur  Cadet,  a  large,  sensual  man,  with  twinkling  gray  eyes, 
thick  nose,  and  full  red  lips.  His  broad  face,  flushed  with 
wine,  glowed  like  the  harvest  moon  rising  above  the  horizon. 
Cadet  had,  it  was  said,  been  a  butcher  in  Quebec.  He 
was  now,  for  the  misfortune  of  his  country.  Chief  Commis- 
sary of  the  Army  and  a  close  confederate  of  the  Intendant. 

On  the  left  of  the  Intendant  sat  his  Secretary,  l)e  Pean, 
crafty  and  unscrupulous,  a  parasite,  too,  who  iiattered  his 
master  and  ministered  to  his  pleasures.  De  Pean  was  a 
military  man,  and  not  a  bad  soldier  in  the  field ;  but  lie 
loved  gain  bettei  than  glory,  and  amassed  an  enormous 
fortune  out  of  the  impoverishment  of  his  country. 

Le  Mercier,  too,  v/as  there,  C'ommandant  of  Artillery,  a 
brave  ol'ticer,  but  a  bad  man ;  Varin,  a  [iroud,  arrogant  liber- 
tine, C'ommissary  of  Montreal,  who  outdid  bigot  in  rapine 
and  Cadet  in  coarseness;  l)e  Breard,  Comptroller  of  the 
Marine,  a  worthy  associate  of  Penisault,  whose  jMnched 
leatures  and  cunning  leer  were  in  keeping  with  his  impor- 
tant office  of  chief  manager  of  the  Friponne.  I'erraull, 
D'F^stcbe,  Morin,  and  Vergor,  all  creatures  of  the  Intendaiu, 
swelled  the  roll  of  infamy,  as  partners  of  the  (Irand  Com- 
pany of  Associates  trading  in  New  France,  as  their  charter 
named  them  —  the  "(Irand  Comiiany  of  Thieves,"  as  the 
people  in  their  plain  Norman  called  them  who  robbed  them 
in  the  King's  name  and,  under  pretence  of  maintaining  tlu' 


logue  to  wine  eve 


THE    INTENDANT    DIGOT. 


69 


war,  passe  I  the  most  arbitrary  decrees,  the  only  object  of 
which  wa--  ■  1  enricli  themselves  and  their  higher  patrons  at 
the  Court  '.1  Versailles. 

The  res;  of  the  company  seated  roun('  the  table  com- 
prised a  iLimbe»-  of  dissolute  seigneurs  and  gallants  of 
fashion  ab  -at  town  —  men  of  great  wants  and  great  extrava- 
.'rmco,  jusc  the  class  so  qu  Intly  described  by  Charlevoix,  a 
quarier  of  a  century  previous,  as  "gentlemen  thoroughly 
versed  in  the  most  elegant  and  agreeable  modes  of  spending 
money,  but  greatly  at  a  loss  how  to  obtain  it." 

Among  the  gay  young  seigiieurs  who  had  been  drawn 
into  the  vortex  of  Bigot's  splendid  dissipation,  was  the 
bra\e,  handsome  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  —  a  captain  of 
the  Royal  Marine,  a  Colonial  corps  recently  embodied  at 
(Quebec.  In  general  form  and  feature  Le  Gardeur  was  a 
manly  reflex  of  his  beautiful  sister  Amelie,  but  his  counte- 
nance was  marred  with  traces  of  debauchery.  His  face  was 
inl];uned,  and  his  dark  eyes,  so  like  his  sister's,  by  nature 
tender  a  ad  true,  were  now  glittering  with  the  adder  tongues 
of  the  cursed  wine-serpent. 

Taking  the  cue  from  Higot,  Le  Gardeur  responded  madly 
to  the  challenges  to  drink  from  all  around  him.  Wine 
was  now  Hooding  every  brain,  and  the  table  was  one  scene 
of  riotous  debauch. 

'•  Fill  up  again,  Le  Gardeur  1  "  exclaimed  the  Intendant, 
with  a  loud  and  still  clear  voice ;  "  the  lying  clock  says  it  is 
day  —  broad  day,  but  neither  cock  crows  nor  day  dawns  in 
the  C'hateau  of  Heaumanoir,  save  at  the  will  of  its  master 
and  ills  merry  quests  I  1^'ill  up,  comi^anions  all  !  The  lamj)- 
\\'i^\\\.  in  the  wine-cup  is  brighter  than  the  clearest  sun  that 
e\  er  shone  !  " 

"Bravo  Bigot!  name  your  toast,  and  we  will  pledge  it 
till  the  seven  stars  count  fourteen  !  "  replied  Le  Gradeur. 
looking  hazily  at  the  great  clock  in  the  hall.  "  I  see  four 
clocks  in  the  room,  and  every  one  of  them  lies  if  it  saws  it 
is  day !  " 

"You  are  mending,  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny!  \o\\  are 
worthy  to  laelong  to  the  Grand  Comiiauy!  But  you  shall 
lia\  e  my  toast.  We  have  drank  it  twenty  times  already,  but 
it  will  stand  drinking  twenty  times  more,  it  is  the  best  pro- 
logue to  wine  ever  devised  by  wit  of  man  —  a  woman —  " 


70 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


"And  the  best  epilogue  too,  Bigot!"  interjected  Varin, 
visibly  drunk ;  "  but  let  us  have  the  toast,  my  cup  is 
waiting." 

"  Well,  fill  up  all,  then ;  and  we  will  drink  the  health, 
wealth,  and  love  by  stealth,  of  the  jolliest  dame  in  sunny 
France     -  The  Marquise  de  Pompadour  !  " 

"  La  Pompadour  !  La  Pompadour  !  "  Every  tongue  re- 
peated the  name,  the  goblets  were  drained  to  the  bottoms, 
and  a  thunder  of  applause  and  clattering  of  glasses  followed 
the  toast  of  the  mistress  of  Louis  X\'.,  who  was  the  special 
protectress  of  the  Grand  C'qmpany,  —  a  goodly  share  of 
whose  profits  in  the  monopoly  of  trade  in  New  France  was 
thrown  into  the  lap  of  the  powerful  favorite. 

"  Come,  Varin  !  your  turn  now !  "  cried  P)igot,  turning  to 
the  Commissary;  "a  toast  for  \'ille  Marie!  Merry  Mon- 
treal !  where  they  eat  like  rats  of  Poitou,  and  drink  till  they 
ring  the  fire-bells,  as  the  liordelais  did  to  welcome  the  col- 
lectors of  the  gabelle.  The  Montrealers  have  not  rung  the 
fire-bells  yet  against  you,  Varin,  but  they  will  by  and  by  !  " 

V^irin  filled  his  cup  with  an  unsteady  hand  until  it  ran 
over,  and  propping  his  body  against  the  table  as  he  stood 
up,  replied,  "A  toast  for  Ville  Marie!  and  our  friends  in 
need!  — The  blue  caps  of  the  Richelieu!"  This  was  in 
allusion  to  a  recent  ordinance  of  the  Intcndant,  authorizing 
him  to  seize  all  the  corn  in  store  at  Montreal  and  in  the  sur- 
rounding coimtry  —  under  pretence  of  supplying  the  army, 
and  really  to  secure  the  monopoly  of  it  for  the  Grand 
Company. 

The  toast  was  drunk,  amid  rapturous  applause.  "  VW'll 
said,  Varin!"  exclaimed  P>igot ;  "that  toast  implied  both 
business  and  pleasure  :  the  business  was  to  sweep  out  tlu' 
granges  of  the  farmers ;  the  pleasure  is  to  drink  in  honor 
of  your  success." 

"  My  foragers  sweep  clean ! "  said  Varin,  resuming  his 
seat,  and  looking  under  his  hand  to  steady  his  ga/c. 
"  Better  brooms  were  ne\er  made  in  IJesancjon.  The  couii 
try  is  swept  as  clean  as  a  ball-room.  Vour  Kxcellency  and 
the  Marquise  might  lead  the  dance  over  it,  and  not  a  straw 
lie  in  your  way  !  " 

"And  did  you  manage  it  without  a  fight,  Varin.'"  asked 
the  Sieur  d'Estebe,  with  a  half  sneer. 


THE    INTENDANT    BIGOT, 


;i 


'•  Fight !  Why  fight  ?  The  habitans  will  never  resist  the 
King's  name.  \Ve  conjure  the  devil  clown  with  that.  When 
wc  skin  our  eels  we  don't  begin  at  the  tail !  If  we  did,  the 
habitans  would  be  like  the  eels  of  Melun  —  cry  out  before 
they  were  hurt.  No!  no!  D'Estebe!  We  are  more  polite  in 
\  ille  Marie.  We  tell  them  the  King's  troops  need  the  corn. 
rhc\-  doff  their  caps,  and  with  tears  in  their  eyes,  say, 
'Monsieur  le  Commissaire,  the  King  can  have  all  we  pos- 
sess, and  ourselves  too,  if  he  will  only  save  Canada  from 
the  iJostonnais.'  This  is  better  than  stealing  the  honey  and 
killing  the  bees  that  made  it,  D'Estebe  !  " 

"  But  what  became  of  the  families  of  the  habitans  after 
this  swoop  of  your  foragers  ?  "  asked  the  Seigneur  de  Beauce, 
a  country  gentleman  who  retained  a  few  honorable  ideas 
floating  on  top  of  the  wine  he  had  swallowed. 

"Oh  !  the  families  —  that  is,  the  women  and  children,  for 
we  look  the  men  for  the  army.  You  see,  J)e  Beauce,"  replied 
\'arin,  with  a  mocking  air,  as  he  crossed  his  thumbs  like 
a  peasant  of  Languedoc  when  he  wishes  to  inspire  belief  in 
his  words,  "  the  families  have  to  do  what  the  gentlemen  of 
ik'auce  practise  in  times  of  scarcity  —  breakfast  by  gaping  ! 
or  they  can  eat  wind,  like  the  people  of  Poitou  :  it  will  make 
ihem  spit  clean  !  " 

De  Beauce  was  irritated  at  the  mocking  sign  and  the 
proverbial  allusion  to  the  gaping  of  the  people  of  Beauce. 
He  started  up  in  wrath,  and  striking  his  fist  on  the  table, 
"  Monsieur  Varin !  "  cried  he,  "  do  not  cross  your  thumbs 
at  ine,  or  I  will  cut  them  ofi^ !  Let  me  tell  you  the  gentlemen 
of  lieauce  do  not  breakfast  on  gaping,  but  have  plenty  of 
corn  to  stuff  even  a  Commissary  of  Montreal  I  " 

The  Sieur  Le  Mercier,  at  a  sign  from  Bigot,  interposed  to 
st(jp  the  rising  quarrel.  "  Don't  mind  Varin,"  said  he,  whis- 
l)ering  to  De  Beauce ;  "  he  is  drunk,  and  a  row  will  anger  the 
Intendant.  Wait,  and  by  and  by  you  shall  toast  Varin  as 
the  chief  baker  of  Pharoah,  who  got  hanged  because  he  stole 
the  King's  corn." 

"  As  he  deserves  to  be,  for  his  insult  to  the  gentlemen  of 
lieauce,"  insinuated  Bigot,  leaning  over  to  his  angry  guest, 
at  the  same  time  winking  good-humoredly  to  Varin.  "  Come, 
now,  De  Beauce,  friends  all,  amantiuni  irw,  you  know  — 
which  is  Latin  for  love  —  and  1   will   sing   you  a  stave   in 


72 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


praise  of  this  good  wine,  which  is  better  than  Bacchus  ever 
drank."  The  Intendant  rose  up,  and  holding  a  brimming 
glass  in  his  hand,  chanted  in  full,  musical  voice  a  favorite 
ditty  of  the  day,  as  a  ready  mode  of  restoring  harmony  among 
the  company : 

"  '  Amis  !  clans  ma  bouteille, 
Voila  le  vin  de  France  ! 
C'est  It"  bon  vin  qui  danse  ici, 
C'est  le  bon  vin  qui  danse. 

(tai  Ion  la! 

Vive  la  lirette ! 

Des  File; ties 

II  y  en  aura  ! ' 

Vh^ent  les  Filettes  !  The  girls  of  Quebec  —  first  in  beauty, 
last  in  love,  and  nowhere  in  scorn  of  a  gallant  worthy  of 
them!"  continued  Bigot.  "  What  say  you,  De  Pean  ?  Are 
you  not  prepared  to  toast  the  belies  of  Quebec  ? " 

"  That  I  am,  your  Excellency !  "  I  )e  Pean  was  unsteady 
upon  his  feet,  as  he  rose  to  respond  to  the  Intendant's  chal- 
lenge. He  pot-valiantly  drew  his  sword,  and  laid  it  on  the 
table.  "  I  will  call  on  the  honorable  company  to  drink  this 
toast  on  their  knees,  and  there  is  my  sword  to  cut  the  legs 
off  any  gentleman  who  will  not  kneel  down  and  drink  a  full 
cup  to  the  bright  eyes  of  the  belle  of  Quebec  —  The  incom- 
parable Angelique  des  Meloises  !  " 

The  toast  suited  their  mood.  FA'ery  one  filled  up  his  cup 
in  honor  of  a  beauty  so  universally  admired. 

"  Kneel  down,  all,"  cried  the  Intendant,  "or  De  Pean  will 
hamstring  us!"  All  knelt  down  with  a  clash — some  of 
them  unable  to  rise  again.  "We  will  drink  to  the  Ange- 
lique charms  of  the  fair  Des  Meloises.  Come  now,  all 
together !  —  as  the  jolly  Dutchmen  of  Albany  say,  '  i'pp 
scys  over  !''  " 

Such  of  the  company  as  were  able  resumed  their  seats 
amid  great  laughter  and  confusion,  when  the  Sieur  1  )os- 
chenaux,  a  reckless  young  gallant,  ablaze  with  wine  and 
excitement,  stood  up,  leaning  against  the  table.  His 
fingers  dabbled  in  his  wine  -  cup  as  he  addressed  them, 
but  he  did  not  notice  it. 

"  We  have  drunk  with  all  the  honors,"  said  he,  "  to  the 
bright  eyes  of  the  belle  of  Quebec.     1  call  on  every  gentle- 


[man  now,  to  drin 
New  France!  " 

'•  Who  is  she  .'' 
I" who  is  the  belle 

'•  Who  is  she  .^ 
|lic|uc,  whom  we  h: 
jealous  of  any  pn 

"Tut!"    cried 
[with  evening  stai 
des  Meloises  witl 
full  brimmers  — 
I  New  France  —  th 

Le  Gardeur  dt 
[elbow,  his  face  be 
cup,  for  Deschena 
name  of  his  sist 
though  a  serpent 
head  of  Deschenj 
[sword  as  he  rushe 

"  A  thousand  li 
[lute  that  holy  nai 
[stanlly,  or  you  shii 

The  guests    rot 
[Ciardeur  struggled 
'those  who  interpc 
j  roused  to  frenzy 
(Irawn  his  sword, 
[his  antagonist. 

The    Intendant, 
j  never  forsook  hin 
land  held  fast  his  t 

"  Are  you  mac 

[sister,  and  how  he 

[inopportune!     Pe 

Repentigny  to  the 

Deschenaux  str 
I  the  Intendant  wa 
I'' Damn  De  Rep 
[honor  to  the  pret 
I  to  take  it  up  in  th 

"  Any  one  who 


THE    INTKNDANT    BIGOT. 


73 


ft 
/orite 

111011" 


:aulv. 

;iy  of 

Are 

teacly 
ch  al- 
ii the 
<.  this 
;  legs 
a  full 
iconi- 

5  cup 

will 
le  of 

all 

seats 
I  )cs- 
aiul 
His 
lein, 

)  the 
ntle- 


man  now,  to  drink  to  the  still  Ijrighter  eyes  of  the  belle  of 
New  France!  " 

"  Who  is  she  ?  Name  !  name  !  "  shouted  a  dozen  voices  ; 
••  who  is  the  belle  of  New  France  ?  " 

••  Who  is  she  ?  Why,  who  can  she  be  but  the  fair  Ange- 
li(|uc,  whom  we  have  just  honored?"  replied  I)e  Pean,  hotly, 
jiiilous  of  any  precedence  in  that  quarter. 

"Tut!"  cried  Deschenaux,  "you  compare  glowworms 
with  evening  stars,  when  you  pretend  to  match  Angelique 
(Ics  Meloises  with  the  lady  I  propose  to  honor!  J  call  for 
full  brimmers  —  cardinal's  hats — -in  honor  of  the  belle  of 
Now  France  —  the  fair  Amelie  de  Repentigny  !  " 

Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  was  sitting  leaning  on  his 
elbow,  his  face  beaming  with  jollity,  as  he  waited,  with  a  full 
cup,  for  Deschenaux's  toast.  I>ut  no  sooner  did  he  hear  the 
name  of  his  sister  from  those  lips  than  he  sprang  up  as 
though  a  serpent  had  bit  him.  He  hurled  his  goblet  at  the 
head  of  Deschenaux  with  a  fierce  imprecation,  and  drew  his 
sword  as  he  rushed  towards  him. 

•'  A  thousand  lightnings  strike  you  !     How  dare  you  pol- 
lute that  holy  name,  Deschenaux  ?     Retract  that  toast  in- 
stantly, or  you  shall  drink  it  in  blood  —  retract,  I  say!" 
The  guests    rose    to   their    feet    in    terrible   uproar.     Le 
pCiardeur  struggled  violently  to  break  thrc>ugh  a  number  of 
iliose  who  interposed  between   him  and  Deschenaux,  who, 
roused  to  frenzy  by  the  insult  from   Le  Gardeur,  had  also 
H drawn  his  sword,  and  stood  ready  to  receive  the  assault  of 
'his  antagonist. 

riie  Intendant,  whose  courage  and  presence  of  mind 
I  never  forsook  him,  pulled  Deschenaux  down  upon  his  seat 
land  held  fast  his  sword  arm,  shouting  in  his  ear, — 

'•  Are  you  mad,  Deschenaux .'  Vou  knew  she  was  his 
I  sister,  and  how  he  worships  i  r  !  Retract  the  toast  —  it  was 
I  inopportune !  Resides,  recoli<  ct  we  want  to  win  over  De 
i  Repentigny  to  the  Grand  Company  !  " 

f'  Deschenaux  struggled  for  a  minute,  but  the  influence  of 
the  intendant  was  all  powerful  over  him.  He  gave  way. 
^;"l)ainn  De  Repentigny,"  said  he,  "I  only  meant  to  do 
I  honor  to  the  pretty  witch.  Who  would  have  expected  him 
I  to  take  it  up  in  that  manner? " 

"Any  one  who  knows  him;  besides,"  continued  the  In- 


74 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


till 


5  Sister, 

Cirand  Company,  anc 


tendant,  "  if  you  must  loast  \ 

body  and  soul  mide  over  to  the  urana  company,  ana  men 

will  care  no  more  for  his  sister's  fame  than  you  do  for  yours. 

"  J)Ut  the  insult !  He  has  drawn  blood  with  the  goblut, 
said  Deschenaux,  wiping  his  forehead  with  his  fingers;  "i 
cannot  pardon  that !  " 

"Tut,  tut;  fight  him  another  day.  But  you  shall  iii; 
fight  here  !  Cadet  and  Le  Mercier  have  pinned  the  youii, 
Dayard,  I  see;  so  you  have  a  chance  to  do  the  honorable 
Deschenaux;  go  to  him,  retract  the  toast,  and  say  you  luic 
forgotten  the  fair  lady  was  his  sister." 

Deschenaux  swallowed  his  wrath,  rose  up,  and  shealluc 
his  sword.  I'aking  the  Intendant  by  the  arm,  he  went  w: 
to  Le  (Jardeur,  who  was  still  trying  to  advance.  Desthc 
naux  lield  up  his  hand  deprecatingly.  "  Le  Gardeur,"  saJL 
he,  with  an  air  of  apparent  contrition,  "  I  was  wrong  to  ofu: 
mat  toast.  I  had  forgotten  the  fair  lady  was  your  sister.  1 
retract  the  toast,  since  it  is  disagreeable  to  you,  although  x 
would  have  been  proud  to  drink  it." 

Le  Gardeur  was  as  hard  to  appease  as  he  was  easy  i^ 
e.Ycite  to  anger.     He  still  held  his  drawn  sword  in  his  haiia 

"  Come  !  "  cried    Bigot,   "  you  are   as  hard  to  please   i- 
Villiers  Vendome,  whom  the  King  himself  could  not  satisfy 
Deschenaux    says   he   is   sorry.     A   gentleman    cannot   m  ; 
more;  so  shake  hands  and  be  friends,  l)e  Repentigny." 

Impervious  to  threats,  and  often  to  reason,  Le  Gardeui 
could  not  resist  an  api)eal  to  his  generosity. 

He  sheathed  his  sword,  and  held  out  his  hand  with  frank 
forgiveness.  "  V'our  apology  is  ample,  Sieur  DeschenLUix| 
1  am  satisfied  you  meant  no  aU'ront  to  my  sister !  It  is  im 
weak  point,  messieurs,"  continued  he,  looking  firmly  Pt  tliv 
company,  ready  to  break  out  had  he  detected  the  shadow  i: 
a  sneer  upon  any  tme's  countenance.  "  I  honor  her  as  I  d 
the  queen  of  heaven.  Neither  of  their  names  ought  to  Ik 
sjioken  here." 

"  Well  said  !  T,e  Gardeur,"  exclaimed  the  Intendaii; 
"That's  right,  shake  hands,  and  be  friends  again.  IVie.ssa 
are  ipiarrels  that  lead  to  reconciliation  and  the  washing  ou: 
of  feuds  in  wine.     Take  your  seats,  gentlemen." 

There  was  a  general  scramble  back  to  the  table.  Higc, 
stood  up  in  renewed  force. 


Valets !  "  crid 
drink  a  toast 
jiidugh  to  melt  ( 
ihan  I'-gypt's  que 
klc  Repentigny  fr 
^.-oinpany  of  adven 
'■:,  j'iie  valets  Hew 
|vvas  replenished  v 
|all  llic  heavy  imj)t 
"  •■  \()U  are  willin 
guild  of  the  (ira 
taking;  Le  Garden 

•■  \'c'S,  I  am  a  st 
;i(liiiis:iion,''  rejjlie 
by  St.  Pigot!  I  wil 

iiigot  kissed  h 
Si.  itenoit !  you  sp 
dc  Repentigny,  yo 
gundy." 

'•  \()U  can  mea; 
"  And  satisfy  the  c^ 
Si.  llcnoit." 

••  by  jolly  St.  Ch 

cM'lainied  bigot,  h 

Lc   (Jardeur   clran 

its."  shouted  the  J 

11  will  lead.      Stop 

;;tlic  chorus.' 

'"     The  Intendant  i 

Miilirre,  that  had  ( 

'"  1 


A  tintamarrci  of 
tlu'  \  iolins  and  ta 
ai|)  and  siing  the  s( 
"(liDius  : 

"  '  Vi\ 
No 
Mil 
Kri 


THE    INTENDANT    BIGOT. 


75 


'  Valets  !  "  cried  he,  "  brings  in  now  the  largest  cups  !  We 
,ill  chink  a  toast  tive  fathoms  deep,  in  water  of  life  strong 
enough  to  melt  Cleopatra's  pearls,  and  to  a  jollier  dame 
ban  Kgypt's  queen.  Ikit  first  we  will  make  Le  Gardeur 
ie  Kepentigny  free  of  the  guild  of  noble  partners  of  the 
comixuiy  of  adventurers  trading  in  New  France." 

riie  valets  Hew  in  and  out.  In  a  few  moments  the  table 
las  leplenished  with  huge  drinking- cups,  silver  fiagons,  and 
ill  ilic  heavy  impedimenta  of  the  army  of  J3acchus. 

"  \'()u  are  willing  to  become  one  of  us,  and  enter  the  jolly 
mild  of  the  (irand  ( 'ompany  ? "  exclaimed  the  Intendant, 
pking  Le  Gardeur  by  the  hand. 

"  \'es,  I  am  a  stranger,  and  you  may  take  me  in.  I  claim 
icIniis:5ion,"'  replied  Le  Gardeur  with  drunken  gravity,  "and 
)y  St.  I'igot !  1  will  be  true  to  the  guild  1  " 

IJigut  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks.  "  |]y  the  boot  of 
51.  Menoit!  you  speak  like  the  King  of  Vvetot.  Le  Gardeur 
It;  Rcpentigny,  you  are  fit  to  wear  fur  in  the  Court  of  liur- 
rundy." 

'•  \()U  can  measure  my  foot,  IJigot,"  replied  Le  Gardeur, 
]';ui(l  satisfy  the  company  that  I  am  able  to  wear  the  boot  of 
|Si.  Monoit." 

"  liy  jolly  St.  Chinon  !  and  you  shall  wear  it,  T>e  Gardeur," 

ixclaimed  Higot,  handing  him  a  quart  Hagon  of  wine,  which 

Le   (lardeur    drank   without   drawing  breath.     "  I'hat   boot 

|its."  shouted  the  Intendant  exullingly  ;  "  now  for  the  chant  ! 

II  will  lead.     Stop  the  breath  of  any  one  who  will  not  join  in 

the  chorus.' 

Tlu'  Intendant  in  great  voice  led  off  a  macaronic  verse  of 
iMolicre,  that  had  often  made  merry  the  orgies  of  Versailles : 

"  '  Mlmu),  l)cnL',  bene,  rcspoiulure  ! 
Digniis,  tlij^mis  us,  entniro 
In  Mdstro  liV'to  corpDir  !  '  " 


'tlu'  \ 
up  ai 
clidn 


mlam 
iolins 
id  san 

IS  ; 


arr(!  of  voices  and  a  jingle  of  glasses  accompanied 

and  taniboiiis  dc   nasijuc  as  the  conipaiU'  stood 

g  the  song,  winding  up  with  a  grand  burst  .it  the 

"  '  ViviU  !   vival!   vivat  '  ctjiit  fois  vivat  I 
Novus  sociiis  (|ui  tani  bene  parhM  ! 
NTillc  mille  aiiiiis  ct  maiigut  ot  hihat, 
l"'ripet  ut  fripuimut ! '  " 


76 


THE   r.or.DEN   noG. 


I'l 


Hnnds  were  shaken  all  round,  congratulations,  embraJ 
ings,  and  filthy  kisses  showered  upon  Le  Gardeur  to  honoj 
his  admission  as  a  partner  of  the  Grand  Company. 

"  And  now,"  continued  Bigot,  "  we  will  drink  a  draugliil 
long  as  the  bell  rope  of  Notre  Dame.  Fill  up  brimmers  oil 
the  quintessence  of  the  grape,  and  drain  them  dry  in  honoi| 
of  the  Friponne  !  " 

The  name  was  electric.  It  was,  in  the  country,  a  worl 
of  opprobrium,  but  at  Beaumanoir  it  was  laughed  at  v.ittl 
true  Gallic  nonchalance.  Indeed,  to  show  their  scorn  oif 
public  opinion,  the  Grand  C'ompany  had  lately  launched 
new  ship  upon  the  (rreat  Lakes  to  carry  on  the  fur  trade,  ancl 
had  appropriately  and  mockingly  named  her,  ''La  InipoumA 

The  toast  of  La  Fripoimc  \vas  drunk  with  applause,  fol] 
lowed  by  a  wild  bacchanalian  song. 

The  Sieur  Morin  had  been  a  merchant  in  P)ordeau.x  wIioki 
bond  was  held  in  as  little  value  as  his  word.  Me  had  lalcll 
removed  to  New  France,  transferred  the  bulk  of  his  iiiLrl 
chandise  to  the  Friponne,  and  become  an  active  agent  oi| 
the  Grand  Company, 

'■'La  Friponne  I'"  cried  he;  "1   have  drunk  success  to  he;| 
with  all  my  heart  and  throat;  but  I  say  she  will  never  \vt'a:| 
a  night-cap  and  sleep  quietly  in  our  arms  until  we  muzzle  tlu 
Golden  Dog  thai  barks  by  night  and  by  day  in  the  Rue  Buade, 

"'I'hat  is  true,  Morin!"  interrupted  Varin.     "The  (Jrandl 
Com]3any  will  ne\er  know  peace  until  we  send  the  liourgcoi^ 
[lis  master,  back  to  the  Bastille.     The  (ioldcn  Dog  is      " 

"  Damn  the  Golden  Dog!"  exclaimed  Bigot,  passionatdyl 
"  Why  do  you  utter  his  name,  Varin,  to  sour  our  wine  ? 
hope  one  day  to  pull  down  the  Dog,  as  well  as  the  wlidki 
keiniel  of  the  insolent  Bourgeois."  Then,  as  was  his  wdiuj 
concealing  his  feelings  under  a  nu)cking  gilie,  "  V^uin,"  s,i 
he,  "they  say  that  it  is  your  marr(nv  bone  the  Golden  I  )(iJ 
is  gnawing       ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  "  ' 

"More  peo|)le  believe  it  is  youi  Fxcellency's ! "  X'aiiii 
knew  he  was  right,  but  awan,'  of  Bigot's  touchiness  on  thai 
point,  added,  as  is  the  woiit  of  panders  to  great  me"  "  li 
is  either  yours  or  the  ( "ardinal's." 

"  Let  it  be  the  Canlinars,  then  !      He  is  still  in  purgatory, 
and  there  will  wait  the  arrival  of  the  Bourgeois,  to  balance| 
accounts  with  him." 


Bigot  hated  the  B 
le  has  injured.     Bij 
merit  years  ago  froi 
iefended    the    perst 
louen.     The   Inten 
jrosperity   in   New 
when  he  saw  the  tal 
inscription,  glaring 
Uie  Huade.      Bigot 
he  words  that  burn 
ne  (lay  to  be  reven 

"(Confusion  to  ll 

hat  is  the  parly  of 

that   canting    si 

uniild  pull  down  tin 

iMHcrrow  !  " 

The  company  no 
heir  cups.      I'ew  pi 

ing.  But  l)e  R 
'Oh,  for  men  who  ( 
ye  of  l)e  Repentig 
^n  the  Grand  Compi 
I  The  wine  was  bul 
carcely  knew  what 
ast  words. 

"  Whom  do  you  ( 

he  (Wand  Company 

land  ready  to  pluc^ 

iKcw  I'rance,  and  ca 

ivhere  I  will  challenj 

I'ish  !  that  is  nc 

jsee  the  p.ntner  in  tl: 

he  (loldtMi  Dog." 

"  1  dare  !  and  I  di 
n  response   to  the 
iieaiil  his  challenge 

'■  And  I  dare  ;   an 
ishouted  Le  Gardeui 
he  thousand  claims 
hH.  upon  him. 

"  I   take  you  at  3 


THE    INTENDANT    HKJOT. 


77 


Bi[^ot  hated  the  Bourgeois  Philibert  as  one  hates  the  man 
he  has  injured.  JJigot  had  been  instrumental  in  his  hanish- 
iiunl  years  ago  from  France,  when  the  bold  Norman  count 
di't ended  the  persecuted  jansenists  in  the  Parliament  of 
Kouen.  The  [ntendant  hated  him  now  for  his  wealth  and 
|ii()>|)erity  in  New  France.  lUit  his  wrath  turned  to  fury 
Avlu'ii  he  saw  the  tablet  of  the  (iolden  Dog,  with  its  taunting 
iii>crii)tion,  glaring  ujion  the  front  of  the  magazine  in  the 
KiK'  buade.  IJigot  felt  the  full  meaning  and  significance  of 
till,'  words  that  burned  into  his  scnil,  and  for  which  he  hoped 
oiu'  (lay  to  be  revenged. 

Confusion  to  the  whole  litter  of  the  (lolden  Dog,  and 
Hiat  is  the  party  of  the  Iloiiiictcs  Griis !''  cried  he.  "  Dut 
tor  that  canting  savant  who  plays  the  Governor  here,  I 
Uduld  pull  down  the  sign  and  hang  its  master  up  in  its  stead 
to-iiicrrow  !  " 

The  company  now  grew  still  more  hilarious  and  noisy  in 
jthoir  cujis.  I'"ew  paid  attention  to  what  the  Intendant  was 
paying.  lUit  De  Repentigny  heard  him  utter  the  words, 
Oh,  for  men  who  dare  do  men's  deeds!"  He  caught  the 
eye  of  De  Repentigny,  and  added,  "  IJut  we  are  all  cowards 
^n  the  (irand  C-ompany,  and  are  afraid  of  the  jjourgeois." 

The  wine  was  bubbling  in  the  !>rain  of  Le  (iardeur.  lie 
scarcely  knew  what  the  I  ntendant  said,  but  he  caught  the 
last  words. 

"Whom  do  you  call  cowards,  Chevnlier .''  I  have  joined 
[the  (Irand  (Company.  I"^  tin;  rest  are  cowards,  I  am  not:  I^ 
stand  ready  to  pluck  the  peruke  olf  the  head  of  any  man  in 
New  France,  and  carry  it  on  my  sword  to  the  Place  d'  .Amies, 
|\vliere  I  will  challenge  all  the  world  to  come  and  take  it!" 

"  I'ish  !  that  is  nothing!  give  me  man's  work.  I  want  to 
seethe  i)aitner  in  the  (Iranil  Company  who  dare  pull  down 
the  (iolden  Dog." 

I  dare!  and  I  dare!"  exclaimed  a  dozen  voices  at  once 
Bn  rL'S])on.se  to  the  appeal  of  the  I  ntendant,  nvIio  craftily 
liiieinit  his  challenge  to  ensnare  only  l,e  (lardeur. 

"And  1  dare;  and  I  will,  too,  if  you  wish  it,  Chevalier!" 
[shouted  liC  (lardeur,  mad  with  wine,  and  fpnle  oblivious  of 
[the  ihousand  claims  of  tl)j  father  of  his  frienil,  Pierre  I'hili- 
hi'it.  upon  Idm. 

"I  take  you  at  your  word,   Le  (lardeur!  and  bind  your 


78 


THE  (;om)I<:n   nort. 


1 


honor  to  it  in  the  presence  of  all  these  gentlemen,"  saioi 
Bigot  with  a  look  of  intense  satisfaction. 

"  When  shall  it  be  done  —  to-day  ? "     Le  Gardeur  seeiiiecl 
ready  to  pluck  the  moon  from  the  sky  in  his  present  state 
ecstasy. 

"Why,  no,  not  to-day;  not  before  the  pear  is  ripe  will  \\i\ 
pluck  it !     Your  word  of  honor  will  keep  till  then  ?  " 

Bigot  was  in  great  glee  over  the  success  of  his  stratagem 
to  entrap  l)e  Repentigny. 

"It  will  keep  a  thousand  }'ears !  "  replied  T^e  (iardcur.l 
amid  a  fresh  outburst  of  mcniinent  round  the  board  wliiclJ 
culminated  in  a  shameless  song,  lit  only  for  a  revel  of  salvrj 

The  Sieur  (Jadet  lolled  lazily  in  his  chair,  his  eyes  blink 
ing  with  a  sleepy  leer.  "  We  are  getting  stupidly  drunk, 
Bigot,"  said  he;  "we  want  something  new  to  rouse  us  all 
fresh  life.     Will  you  let  me  offer  a  toast.''" 

"Oo  on,  Cadet!  offer  what  toast  you  please.      There  i>| 
nothing  in  heaven,  hell,  or  upon  earth  that  I  won't  drink 
for  your  sake." 

"  I  want  you  to  drink  it  on  your  knees.  Bigot !  pledge  nici 
that,  and  fill  your  biggest  cup." 

"  We   will   drink   it   on   all    fours   if   you  like  !   conn;,  orj 
with  your  toast.  Cadet ;  you  are  as  long  over  it  as  l''a(lnr| 
Clapion's  sermon  in  Lent !   and  it  will  be  as  interestinij. 
dare  say ! " 

"Well,  Chevalier,  the  Crand  Company,  after  toasting  a 
the  beauties  of  (^)uel)ec,  desire  to  drink  the   health  of  tht;| 
fair  mistress  of  Beaumanoir,  and  in  her  presence  too  1  "  said 
Cadet  with  owlish  gravity. 

Bigot  started;  drunk  and  reckless  as  he  was,  he  did  nnil 
like  his  secret  to  be  divulged.  Me  was  angry  with  ("add 
for  referring  to  it  in  the  presence  of  so  niany  who  knew  nut 
that  a  strange  lady  nas  residitig  at  Beaumanoir.  lie  \\a>| 
too  thoroughly  a  libertine  of  the  period  to  feel  any  ni<tiai 
compunction  for  any  excess  he  conunitted.  He  was  haliiui 
ally  more  ready  to  glory  over  his  coiKjuesls,  tluvn  to  deny  m 
txle'Mi.iK.  them.  But  in  this  case  lie  had,  to  the  surprise 
of  (  ru'el,  been  very  reticent,  and  shy  of  speaking  of  i 
lar'v  even  to  him. 

"Thf.-y  say  •'f^e  is  a  '..iracle  of  beauty,  Bigot  !"  continudl 
C.aiel.  "and  tiiat  you  are  so  jealous  of  the  charms  of  yi»a 


belle  Gabrielle  th; 
I  friends." 

'*  My  belle  Gabr 
Cadet!"      Bigot  s 
.  nevertheless.     "  SI 
{even  on  you,  Cadt 
ni^ht,  listening  to 
"  Then,  1  hope 
Ion  oiu"  knees  for 
I  company? " 

"  Agreed,   agree( 
[pressed  the  Intenc 
Hair  mistress  of  lie; 
Varin,  however, 
I  the  hall.      "Send 
nobles  of  Persia,  a 
carouse  according 
stretch.     Let  the  J 
'beauty  to  the  princ 
liigot,  too  full  o 
wisii   of    his   boon 
which  in  his  ab.ser 
I  ho,  '*  if  I  bring  her 
"We   will    kiss 
"and   consider    yo 
'France  or  Old." 

Bigot,  without  fu 
lersed  a  long  corrii 
found  Dame  Trem 
chair.  He  roused 
I  chandler  to  sumuK 
Tbe  housekeepe 
Intendant,  She  w 
and  an  eye  in  he 
master  as  she  arra' 
|[;ay  ribbons. 

"  1  want  your  mi 

her  at  once,"  repea 

rile  housekeepei 

iis  if  to  prevent  Ih 

[went  at  once  on  he 


THE    INTKNDAXT    BKiOT. 


79 


belle  Gabrielle  that  you  are  afraid  to  show  her  to  your  best 
[friends." 

"  My  belle  Gabrielle  is  at  liberty  to  go  where  she  pleases, 
(  adet !  "  Bigot  saw  the  absurdity  of  anger,  but  he  felt  it, 
nevertheless.  "  She  chooses  not  to  leave  her  bower,  to  look 
even  on  you,  Cadet !  I  warrant  you  she  has  not  slept  all 
iiiL^hl,  listening  to  your  infernal  din." 

"Then,  1  hope  you  will  allow  us  to  go  and  beg  pardon 
[on  owY  knees  for  disturbing  her  rest.  What  say  the  good 
I  company? " 

"  Agreed,   agreed ! "    was    the    general    response,   and    all 
'pressed  the  Intendant  vociferously  to  allow  them  to  see  the 
fair  mistress  of  Heaumanoir. 

Varin,  however,  proposed  that  she  should  be  brought  i;;to 

[the  hall.      "Send  her  to  us,  ()   King,"  cried  he;  "we  are 

nohlcs  of  Persia,  and  this  is  Shushan  the  palace,  where  we 

[carouse  according  to  the  law  of  the  Medes,  seven  days  at  a 

stretch.     Let  the  King  bring  in  (^ueen  Vashti,  to  show  her 

beauty  to  the  princes  and  nobles  of  his  court!  " 

Bigot,  too  full  of  wire  to  weigh  scruples,  yielded  to  the 
!\vi.sii    of    his    boon  companions.      He   rose   from   his   chair, 
which  in  his  absence  was  taken  by  Cadet.     "Mind!"  said 
[he,  "if  I  bring  her  in,  you  shall  show  her  every  respect." 

"We   will    kiss   the   dust  of   her  feet,"   answered   Cadet, 
hand   consider    you    the    greatest  king   of  a  feast  in  New 
France  or  Old." 

Bigot,  without  further  parley,  passed  out  of  the  hall,  trav- 

lersed  a  long  corridor  and  entered  an  anteroom,  where  he 

found  Dame  Tremblay,  the  old  housekeeper,  dozing  on  her 

chair.     He   roused  her  up,  and   bade   her  go  to  the  inner 

chamber  to  summon  her  mistress. 

Tile  housekeeper  rose  in   a  moment  at  the  voice  of  the 

Intendant.     She  was  a  comely  dame,   with   a  ruddy  cheek. 

jand   an   eye  in   her  head   that   looked    inciuisitively   at   her 

master  as  she  arranged  her  cap  and  threw  back  her  rather 

l^ay  ribbons. 

"  1  want  your  mistress  up  in  the  great  hall  !  (io  summon 
lior  at  once,"  repeated  the  Intendant. 

The  housekeeper  courtesied,  but  pressed  her  lips  together 
iis  if  to  prevent  them  from  speaking  in  remonstrance.     She 
[Went  at  once  on  her  ungracious  errand. 


( 


CHAPTER   VIII. 


CAROLINE    I)K    ST.    CASTIN. 


DAME  TREMIJLA  Y  entered  the  suite  of  apartments  and 
returned  in  a  few  moments,  saying-  that  her  hidy  \v;i.s| 
not  there,  but  iiad  gone  down  to  the  secret  chamber,  to  he, 
she  supposed,  more  out  of  hearing  of  the  noise,  which  had| 
disturbed  her  so  much. 

"I  will  go  find  her  then,"  replied  the  Intendant ;  "youl 
may  return  to  your  own  room,  dame." 

He  walked  across  the  drawing-room  to  one  of  the  gdP 
geous  panels  that  decorated  the  wall,  and  touched  a  hiildwi 
spring.  A  door  Hew  open,  disclosing  a  stair  heavily  car- 
peted that  led  down  to  the  huge  vaulted  foundations  of  Ihi 
Chateau. 

He  descended  the  stair  with  hasty  though  unsteady  steps. 
It  led  to  a  spacious  room,  lighted  with  a  gorgeous  lamp  tlia: 
hiuig  pendiint  in  silver  chains  from  the  frescoed  ceilitg, 
The  walls  were  richly  tapestried  with  products  of  the  looni.^ 
of  the  (iobelins,  representing  the  plains  of  Italy  filled  willi 
sunshine,  where  groves,  temples,  and  colonnades  weii' 
pictured  in  endless  vistas  of  beauty.  The  furniture  of 
the  chamber  was  of  regal  magnificence.  Nothing  tliat 
luxury  could  desire,  or  art  furnish,  had  been  spared  in  its 
adornment.  On  a  sofa  lay  a  guitar,  and  beside  it  a  scarf 
and  a  dainty  glove  fit  for  the  hand  of  the  fairy  queen. 

The  Intendant  looked  eagerlv  round,  as  he  entered  this 
bright  chamber  of  his  fancy,  but  saw  not  its  expected  or 
cupant.  A  recess  in  the  deep  wall  at  Mie  farthest  side  ot 
the  room  contained  an  oratory  with  an  altar  and  a  crucifu 
upon  it.  The  recess  was  partly  in  the  shade.  Ikit  the  eves 
of  the  Intendant  discerned  clearly  enough  the  kneeling,  (n 
rather  the  prostrate,  figure  of  Caroline  de  St.  Castin.  llci 
hands  were  clasped  beneath  her  head,  which  was  bowed  (h 
the  ground.  Her  long,  black  hair  lay  dishevelled  over  lici 
back,  as  she  lay  in  her  white  robe  like  the  Angel  of  Sorrow.^ 

So 


weeping  and  cry 
"Lamb  of  God,  t 
mercy  upon  me  ! 
she  did  not  notic 

bigot  stood  St 
spectacle  of  this 
secret  chamber, 
his  eyes  ;  he  call 
rise,  which  she  tli 
Madonna-like  fac 
this  day. 

vSiie  was  of  nu 
taller  than  she  re 
exciuisite  delicac\ 
of  that  dark  lust 
descendants  of    1 
with  that  of  the  a 
|)reserved  as  an 
stain  has  vanisht 
complexion    was 
through   sorrow, 
beautiful,  and  mo 

Caroline  de  St 
noi)!e  family,  wh 
C'astin,  had  inarri 
of  the  Abenatjuai 

Her  father's  hi 
Colony,  had  been 
military,  serving  i 
the  noble  house,  1 
hixuries  of  the  pe 
ill  h'rance  and  hei 

111  an  evil  hou 
complished  girl  n 
iiiissary  of  the  A: 
ollicers  in  Acadia 

His  ready  wit  ; 
the  susceptible  g 
i.shcd  courtesies  < 
a  joN'ous  temper- 
iiiuner.sed  in  publ 


CAROMNE    OF,    ST.    CASTIN. 


8i 


wet'ping  and  crying  from  the  depths  of  her  broken  heart, 
"Lamb  of  God,  that  taketh  away  the  sins  of  the  world,  have 
mercy  upon  me  !  "  She  was  so  absorbed  in  her  grief  that 
she  tlid  not  notice  the  entrance  of  the  Intendant. 

bigot  stood  still  for  a  moment,  striken  with  awe  at  the 
spectacle  of  this  lovely  woman  weeping  by  herself  in  the 
secret  chamber.  A  look  of  something  like  pity  stole  into 
his  eyes ;  he  called  her  by  name,  ran  to  her,  assisted  her  to 
lise.  which  she  did,  slowly  turning  towards  him  that  weeping, 
.\f;i(lonna-like  face  which  haunts  the  ruins  of  Heaumanoir  to 
this  day. 

She  was  of  medium  stature,  slender  and  lissome,  looking 
taller  than  she  really  was.  Her  features  were  chiselled  with 
e\(|uisite  delicacy;  her  hair  of  a  raven  blackness,  and  eyes 
of  that  dark  lustre  which  reappears  for  generations  in  the 
descendants  of  Kuropeans  who  have  mingled  their  blood 
with  that  of  the  aborigines  of  the  forest.  The  Indian  eye  is 
preserved  as  an  heirlcjom,  long  after  all  memory  of  the  red 
slain  has  vanished  from  the  traditions  of  the  family.  He 
complexion  was  pale,  naturally  of  a  rich  olive,  but  now, 
through  sorrow,  of  a  wan  and  bloodless  hue  —  still  \ery 
hcautiful,  and  more  appealing  than  the  rosiest  coinplexion. 

Caroline  de  St.  Castin  was  an  Acadienne  of  ancient  and 
nob.le  family,  whose  head  and  f(Hmder,  the  Haron  de  St. 
Castin,  had  married  the  beautiful  daughter  of  the  high  chief 
of  the  Abenacjuais. 

Her  father's  house,  one  of  the  most  considerable  in  the 
Colony,  had  been  the  resort  of  the  royal  officers,  civil  and 
military,  serving  in  Acadia.  Caroline,  the  only  daughter  of 
the  noble  house,  had  been  reared  in  all  the  refinements  and 
hixuries  of  the  period,  as  became  her  rank  and  position  both 
ill  i'"rance  and  her  native  Pro\  ince. 

In  an  e\il  hour  for  her  happiness  this  beautifid  and  ac- 
complished girl  met  the  Chevalier  Digot,  who  as  Chief  Com- 
missary of  the  Army,  was  one  of  the  foremost  of  the  royal 
officers  in  Acndia. 

His  ready  wit  and  graceful  manners  pleased  and  Hattered 
the  susceptible  girl,  not  used  to  the  seductions  of  the  pol 
ished  courtesies  of  the  mother-land  of   l'"rance.     She  was  of 
;i  joyous  temper       ga},  frank,  and  confiding.      Her  father, 
immersed  in  public  affairs,  left  her  much  to  herself,  nor,  had 


82 


'I'liK   r,()[j.[:x    Don. 


he  known  it,  would  he  luuc  diMipproWHl  of  tlic  gallant 
courtesies  oj  ihe  ( 'he\alier  IJigol.  I'or  tlie  l>aron  liad  llie 
soul  of  honor,  and  dreamt  every  gentleman  as  well  as  him- 
self possessed  it. 

Iligot,  to  do  him  justice,  felt  as  sincere  a  regard  for  this 
beautiful,  amiable  girl  as  his  nature  was  capable  of  enter- 
taining. In  rank  and  fortune  she  was  more  than  his  equai. 
and  '"ft  to  himself,  he  would  willingly  have  married  her. 
Befoi  he  learned  that  his  project  of  a  marriage  in  the 
Colon .  was  scouted  at  Court  he  had  alreadv  offered  his 
love  to  Caroline  de  St.  Castin,  and  won  easily  the  gentle- 
heart  that  was  l)Ut  too  well  disposed  to  receive  his  homage. 

Her  trust  went  with  her  lo\e.  Karth  was  never  so  green, 
nor  air  so  sweet,  nor  skies  so  l)right  and  azure,  as  those  ol 
Caroline's  wooing,  on  the  shores  of  the  beautiful  ISay  o! 
Minas.  She  loved  this  man  with  a  passion  that  filled  with 
ecstasy  her  whole  being.  She  trusted  his  promises  as  she 
would  have  trusted  Cod's.  She  loved  him  better  than 
sh^i  loved  herself  —  l)etter  than  she  loved  God,  or  Cod's 
law  ;  and  counted  as  a  gain  every  loss  she  suffered  for  hi> 
sake,  and  for  the  affection  she  bore  him. 

After  some  months  spent  in  her  charming  society,  .. 
change  cam<;  over  i'igot.  He  received  formida!)le  missives 
from  his  grc  it  patroness  at  Versailles,  the  Marquise  dc 
Pompadour,  oho  had  other  matrimonial  designs  for  him. 
Bigot  was  too  slavish  a  courtier  to  resent  her  interference. 
nor  was  he  honest  enough  to  explain  his  position  to  his 
betrothed.  He  deferred  his  marriage.  I'he  exigencies  of 
the  war  called  him  away.  He  had  triumphed  over  a  fond, 
confiding  woman  ;  but  he  had  been  trained  among  the  dis- 
solute spirits  of  the  Regency  too  thoroughly  to  feel  more 
than  a  i^assing  regret  for  a  woman  whom,  probably,  he  loved 
better  than  any  other  of  the  victims  of  his  licentious  life. 

When  he  finally  left  Acadia  a  conquered  province  in  tiie 
hands  of  the  iMiglish,  he  also  left  behind  him  the  one  true. 
loving  heart  that  believed  in  his  honor  and  still  prayed  foi 
Ids  happiness. 

The  dajsof  Caroline's  disillusion  soon  came;  she  could  not 
conceal  from  herself  that  she  had  been  baselv  deceived  ami 
abandoned  by  the  man  siie  loved  so  ardently.  She  learned 
that  Bigot  had  been  elevated  to  the  high  office  of  Inteiidaiu 


n 


of  New  France. 
as  the  rose  tha 
two  summers  a; 

Her  father  h 
die  Colony  ;   an 
suddenlv  left 
among  her  far- 

The  Indians 
spect,  recognizi 
They   put   uiK)n 
sent    her,   with 
( )uebec,  where 
proach  him  fcji" 
subdued    for  tl 
refused,  to  die  ; 

It  was  under 
horn    Caroline 
iiianoir.      She  li 
a  vigil  of  prayc 
and  over  the  (' 
now  knew  he 
ready  to  accuse 
sometimes,  mag 
all  earthly  punis 
death   and    jud: 
night  she  had  k 
<!;iveness,  —  son 
hurst  of  revelry 
shook  the  door 
heT  help,  no  om 
herself  utterly  h 

<  )ccasionally 
of  the  Inlendai 
drred  at  the  inf 
man  ;  and  yet  w 
hase  as  he  was, 
v.uuld  infallibl} 
slir  would  rept 
m.ui.  The  pre 
marriage  in  her 
now  di\orce  hei 


CAKOF.IXF.    Di:    ST.    CASTIN. 


«3 


m 


of  New  I'Vancc,  bul  fell  herself  as  uilciiy  ff)r<;otten  by  iiini 
as  the  rose  thai  luul  Ijloomed  and  wilherecl  in  her  garden 
two  summers  ago. 

Her  falher  had  been  summoned  lo  P'rance  on  ihe  loss  of 
the  Colony;  and  fearing  to  face  him  on  his  return,  Caroline 
suddenly  left  her  home  and  sought  refuge  in  the  forest 
among  her  far-off  kindred,  the  red  Abena(|uais. 

riie  Indians  welcomed  her  with  joy  and  unbounded  re- 
spect, recognizing  her  right  to  their  devotion  and  obedience. 
They  put  ujion  Ium"  feet  the  moccasins  of  their  tribe,  and 
sent  her,  with  a  trusty  escort,  through  the  wilderness  to 
()uel)ec,  where  she  hoi)ed  lo  lind  the  Intendant,  not  to  re- 
proach him  for  his  perfidy,  —  her  gentle  heart  was  loo  much 
Mihdued  for  that, -but  to  claim  his  protection,  and  if 
refused,  lo  die  at  his  door. 

It  was  under  such  circiuiislances  that  the  beautiful,  high- 
honi  Caroline  de  St.  (^aslin  became  an  inmate  of  IJeau- 
inanoir.  She  had  passed  the  night  of  this  wild  del)auch  in 
a  vigil  of  prayers,  tears,  and  lamentations  over  her  sad  lot 
and  over  the  degradation  of  I'.igot  by  the  life  which  she 
now  knew  he  led.  Sometimes  her  maddened  fancy  was 
rc.uly  to  accuse  Providence  itself  of  ciuelly  and  injuslice; 
sometimes,  magnifying  her  own  sin,  she  was  ready  to  think 
all  earthly  punishment  upon  herself  as  too  light,  and  invoked 
death  and  judgment  as  alone  adequate  to  her  fault.  All 
night  she  had  knelt  before  the  altar,  asking  for  mercy  and  for- 
sj;iveness,  —  sometimes  starting  to  her  feet  in  terror,  as  a  fresh 
hurst  of  revelry  came  rushing  from  the  great  hall  above,  and 
shook  the  door  of  her  secret  chamber.  Hut  no  one  came  to 
her  help,  no  one  looked  in  upon  her  desolation.  She  deemed 
herself  utterly  forgotten  and  forsaken  of  Ciod  and  man. 

( )ccasionally  she  fancied  she  could  distinguish  the  voice 
of  the  Intendant  amid  the  drunken  uproar,  and  she  shud- 
di'ied  ai  the  infatuation  which  bound  her  very  soul  to  this 
man  ;  and  yet  when  she  cpieslioned  her  heart,  she  knew  that, 
l)ase  as  he  was,  all  she  had  done  and  suffered  for  him  she 
Would  infallibly  do  again.  Were  her  life  to  live  over, 
shr  would  repeat  the  fault  of  loxing  tliis  false,  ungrateful 
man.  The  {promise  of  marriage  had  been  equivalent  to 
m.arriage  in  her  trust  of  him,  and  nothing  Init  death  could 
now  divorce  her  from  him. 


84 


TITF.    r.oLDKX    DOt;. 


fering. 


Hour  after  hour  passed  by,  each  seeming  an  age  of  suf 
Her  feelings  were  worked  up  to  fren/y  :  she  fancied 
she  heard  her  father's  angry  voice  calling  her  by  name,  or 
she  heard  accusing  angels  jeering  at  her  fall.  She  sank 
prostrate  at  last,  in  the  abandonment  of  despair,  calling 
upon  (k)d  to  put  an  end  to  her  miserable  life. 

Bigot  raised  her  from  the  Hoor,  with  words  of  pity  and 
sympathy.  She  turned  on  him  a  look  of  gratitude  whicii. 
had  he  been  of  stone,  he  must  have  felt.  But  Digot's  words 
meant  less  tlian  slie  fancied.  He  was  still  too  intoxicated 
to  reHect,  or  to  feel  shame  of  his  present  enand. 

"Caroline!"  said  he,  "what  do  you  here.'  This  is  the 
time  to  make  merry  -  not  to  pray!  'I'he  honorable  com- 
pany in  the  great  hall  desire  to  pay  their  respects  to  the 
lady  of  licaumanoir       come  with  me!  " 

He  drew  her  hand  through  his  arm  with  a  courtly  grace 
that  seldom  forsook  iiim,  even  in  his  worst  moments.  Caro- 
line looked  at  him  in  a  dazed  manner,  not  comprehending 
his  request.  "  Co  with  you,  ]''ran(;ois  ?  You  know  I  will, 
but  where .'' " 

"To  the  great  hall,"  repeated  he;  "my  worthy  guests 
desire  to  see  you,  and  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  fair  lady 
of  IJeaumanoir." 

It  flashed  ujion  her  mind  what  he  wanted.  Her  womanly 
pride  was  outraged  as  it  had  never  been  before  ;  she  with- 
drew her  hand  from  his  arm  with  shame  and  terror  stamped 
on  every  feature. 

"  Go  up  there  !  Go  to  show  myself  to  your  guests  ! " 
exclaimed  she,  with  choking  accents,  as  she  stepped  back  a 
pace  from  him.  "  Oh,  l''ran(jois  I>igot,  spare  me  that  shame 
and  humiliation  !  1  am,  1  know,  contemptible  beyond  hu- 
man respect,  but  still  (iod  help  me  ! —  1  am  not  so  vile  as 
to  be  made  a  spectacle  of  infamy  to  those  drunken  men 
whom  I  hear  clamoring  for  me,  even  now." 

"Pshaw!  You  think  too  much  of  the  proprieties,  Caro- 
line!" IJigot  felt  sensibly  perplexed  at  the  attitude  shf 
assumed.  "  W'hv  !  'I'he  fairest  dames  of  Paris,  dressed  as 
Hebes  and  (ianyjnedes.  thought  it  a  tuie  jest  to  wait  on  the 
Regent  Duke  of  Orleans  and  the  C'ardinal  du  Hois  in  the 
gay  days  of  the  King's  bachelorhood,  and  they  do  the  same 
now  when  the   King   gets    up   one   of    his    great    feasts    at 


;i 


Choisy;    so    c 
towards  the  do 

"  Spare  me, 
ing  his  hand,  ii 
she.  "  Oh,  wc 
niaiul  me  to  d( 
added  she,  cla; 
she  fancied  rel 

'•  I  (lid  not 
the  rec|uest  of 
ucccnmt  to  go  i 
only."      Her  tc 
him.      Pigot  h 

"Oh,  thanks 
to  conuuand  m 
had  some  small 
you  will  not  co 
at  him  with  ey 
ever  portrayed 

"  No,"  he  re 
it :  it   was  Cad 
tlous,  as   I   am 
Still,  ( !aroline, 
linely  if  1  retui 
a   moment  in 
ni\-  sake,  Carol: 
[Moud  of  you, 
I'rance  can  nu 
Caroline !  " 

"  l''ranrois," 
you  llattered  m 
alone,"  added 
litT  ra\en  lock,'- 
once  have  gone 
say  you  were  p 
of  me  any  moi 
Those  few  brie 
never,  never! " 

bigot   stood 
change  from  th 
solemn  pathos  : 


CAROLINE    DE    ST.    CASTIN. 


85 


Choisy;    so    come,    sweetheart  —  come!"       He    drew    her 
towards  the  door. 

'•  Spare  me,  Francois  ! "  Caroline  knelt  at  his  feet,  clasp- 
in;^'  his  hand,  and  bath;n<;  it  in  tears  "Spare  me!"  cried 
she.  "  Oh,  would  to  Ood  1  had  died  ere  you  came  to  com- 
mand me  to  do  what  I  cannot  a:id  will  not  do,  I""rancois !  " 
;ul(led  she,  clasping  hard  the  hand  of  the  Intcadant,  which 
she  fancied  relaxed  somewhat  of  its  iron  hardness. 

••  I  did  not  come  to  command  ycni,  Caroline,  but  to  bear 
the  request  of  my  guests.  No,  I  do  not  even  ask  you  on  my 
account  to  go  up  to  the  great  hall  :  it  is  to  please  my  guests 
only.""  Her  tears  and  heartrending  appeal  began  to  sober 
him.      nigot  had  not  counted  on  such  a  scene  as  this. 

"Oh,  thanks,  !•  an<;ois,  for  that  word!  Vou  did  not  come 
to  command  Tny  obedience  in  such  a  shameful  thing :  you 
h;ul  some  small  regard  left  for  the  unfortunate  Caroline.  Say 
you  will  not  command  me  to  go  up  there,"  added  she,  looking 
at  him  with  eyes  of  pitiful  pleading,  such  as  no  Italian  art 
ever  portrayed  on  the  face  of  the  sorrowing  Madonna. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  impatiently.  "  It  was  not  1  proposed 
it :  it  was  Cadet.  He  is  always  a  fool  when  the  wine  over- 
tlows,  as  1  am  too,  or  1  would  not  have  hearkened  to  him  ! 
Siill,  Caroline,  I  have  promised,  and  my  guests  will  jeer  me 
finely  if  1  return  without  you."  He  thought  she  hesitated 
a  moment  in  her  resolve  at  this  suggestion.  *' Come,  for 
my  sake,  Caroline  !  Do  up  that  disordered  hair;  I  shall  be 
proud  of  you,  my  Caroline;  there  is  not  a  lady  in  New 
l''r;ince  can  match  you  when  you  look  yourself,  my  pretty 
Caroline !  " 

••  I'rancois,"  said  she,  with  a  sad  smile,  "  it  is  long  since 
vou  Hattered  me  thus !  But  1  will  arrange  my  hair  for  you 
alone,"  added  she,  blushing,  as  with  deft  fingers  she  twisted 
her  ra\en  locks  into  a  coronal  about  her  Jiead.  "  I  would 
uiice  have  gone  with  you  to  the  end  of  the  world  to  hear  you 
say  you  were  proud  of  me.  Alas !  you  can  ne\er  be  proud 
of  nie  any  more,  as  in  the  old  hapi^y  days  at  (Jrand  Pre. 
Those  few  brief  days  of  love  and  joy  can  never  retuin 
never,  never! " 

bigot  stood  silent,  not  knowing  what  to  say  or  do.  The 
change  from  the  bacchanalian  riot  in  the  great  hall  to  the 
soitMun  pathos  and  woe  of  the  secret  chamber   sobered   him 


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Photographic 

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Corporation 


33  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

WnSTIR.N.Y.  14510 

(716)I73-4S03 


'4^ 


86 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


!• 


rapidly.  Even  his  obduracy  gave  way  at  last.  "  Caroline," 
said  he,  taking  both  her  hands  in  his,  "  1  will  not  ur^'e 
you  longer.  1  am  called  bad,  and  you  think  me  so ;  but  I 
am  not  brutal.  It  was  a  promise  made  over  the  wine. 
Varin,  the  drunken  beast,  called  you  (^ueen  Vashti,  ami 
challenged  me  to  show  your  beauty  to  them ;  and  1  swchc 
not  one  of  their  toasted  beauties  could  matcii  my  fair 
Acadienne." 

"  Did  the  Sieur  Varin  call  me  Queen  Vashti  ?  Alas  !  Ik 
was  a  truer  prophet  than  he  knew,"  replied  she,  with  in 
effable  sadness.  "  (^ueen  Vashti  refused  to  obey  even  hn 
king,  when  commanded  to  unveil  her  face  to  the  drunkiii 
nobles.  She  was  deposed,  and  another  raised  to  her  plan, 
Such  may  be  my  fate,  l*'ran(,ois.'' 

"Then  you  will  not  go,  Caroline?" 

"No;  kill  me  if  you  like,  and  bear  my  dead  body  ini  i 
the  hall,  but  living,  1  can  never  show  my  face  again  l)efoii 
men — hardly  before  you,  Fran(;ois,"'  added  she,  blushing, 
as  she  hid  her  tearful  eyes  on  liis  shoulder. 

"Well    then,    Caroline,"  replied   he,  really  admiring   h<r 
spirit  and  resolution,  "  they  shall    linish    their  carouse  with 
out  seeing  you.     The  wine  has  Howed  to-night  in  rivers,  bi:i 
they  shall  swim  in  it  without  you." 

"  And  tears  have  Howed  down  here,"  snid  she,  sadly,  —  '*  (»li. 
so  bitter  !     May  \ou  never  tuste  their  bitterness,  I'ranrois  ! 

I)ig(jt  paced  the  chamber  with  steadier  stens  than  he  li;ul 
entered  it.  'l"he  fumes  were  clearing  from  his  brain;  the 
song  that  had  caught  the  ear  of  Colonel  IMiilibert  as  he 
approached  the  CMiateau  was  resounding  at  this  moment. 
As  it  ceased  Higot  heard  the  loud  iinpatient  knocking  nt 
IMiilibert  at  tin;  outer  door. 

"Darling!"  s;iid  he,  "  lie  down  now.  and  compose  your 
self,  {'"ranrois  Hiyiot  is  not  luiniiiulfiil  of  vour  sacrifices  tui 
his  sake.  1  must  return  to  my  guests,  wIuj  are  claniorinu 
for  me,  or  rather  for  you,  Caroline  !  " 

He  kissed  her  cheek  and  turned  to  leave  her,  but  she 
clung  to  his  hand  as  if  wanting  to  say  something  more  cw 
he  went.  She  trembled  visibly  as  her  low  plaintive  tonr^ 
struck  his  ear. 

"  l''ian(;ois !  if  you  would  forsake  the  comjianionship  <if 
those   men    and    piu'ify   your   tal)le    of    such    e.vcess,  (lodN 


CAROLINE    I>E    ST.    CASTIN. 


S7 


blessing  would  yet  descend  upon  you,  and  the  people's  love 
follow  you  !  It  is  in  your  power  to  be  as  good  as  you  are 
«;reat !  I  have  many  days  wished  to  say  this  to  you,  but 
alas,  I  feared  you  too  much.  I  do  not  fear  you  to-day, 
I  lanrois,  after  your  kind  words  to  me." 

IJigot  was  not  impenetrable  to  that  low  voice  so  full  of 
pathos  and  love.  But  he  was  at  a  loss  what  to  reply : 
hirange  influences  were  flowing  round  him,  carrying  him 
out  of  himself.  He  kissed  the  gentle  head  that  reclined  on 
his  bosom.  "Caroline,"  said  he,  "your  advice  is  wise  and 
good  as  yourself.  I  will  think  of  it  for  your  sake,  if  not 
for  my  own.  Adieu,  darling  !  Go,  and  take  rest :  these 
cruel  vigils  are  killing  you,  and  I  want  you  to  live  in  hope  of 
briglUcr  days." 

"  1  will,"  replied  she,  looking  up  with  ineffable  tender- 
ness, "  I  am  sure  I  shall  rest  after  your  kind  words,  Fran- 
( ois.  Xo  dew  of  Heaven  was  ever  more  refreshing  than 
tiie  balm  they  bring  to  my  weary  soul.  'I'hanks,  O  my 
I'rancois,  for  them  !  "  She  kissed  his  lips,  and  liigot  left 
the  secret  chamber  a  sadder  and  for  the  moment  a  better 
man  than  he  had  ever  been  before. 

Caroline,  overcome  l)y  her  emotions,  threw  herself  on  a 
couch,  invoking  blessings  upon  the  head  of  the  man  by 
whom  she  had  been  so  cruelly  betrayed.  Hut  such  is 
woman's  heart  —full  of  mercy,  compassion,  and  pardon  for 
every  wrong,  when  love  pleads  for  forgiveness. 

"Ila!  ha!"  said  Cadet,  as  the  Intendant  reentered  the 
j;reat  hall,  which  was  fiUeil  with  bacchanalian  frenzy.  "  Ha! 
Iu\ !  His  Kxcellency  has  proposed  and  been  rejected!  'I'he 
fair  lady  has  a  will  of  her  own  and  won't  obey  !  Why,  the 
Intendant  looks  as  if  he  had  come  from  (^uintin  Corentin, 
where  nobody  gets  anything  he  wants!" 

"  Silence,  C'adet !  don't  be  a  f(;ol  !  "  replied  Higot,  impa- 
tiently, although  in  the  Intendant's  usual  mood  nothing  too 
j;ross  or  too  bad  couKl  be  said  in  his  presence  but  he  could 
cap  it  with  something  worse. 

"  I'ool,  r>igot !  It  is  you  who  have  been  the  fool  of  a 
woman  !  "  Cadet  was  privileged  to  say  anything,  and  he 
never  stinted  his  speech.  "  C!onfess,  your  Kxcellency!  she 
is  splay-fooled  as  St.  redaucjue  of  Dijon  !  She  dare  not 
tiip  over  our  carpet  for  fear  of  showing  her  big  feet  1  " 


88 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


Cadet's  coarse  remark  excited  the  mirth  of  the  Intendaiit. 
The  influences  of  the  great  hall  were  more  powerful  than 
those  of  the  secret  chamber.  He  replied  curtly,  however, 
'*  1  have  excused  the  lady  from  coming,  Cadet.  She  is  ill. 
or  she  does  not  please  to  come,  or  she  has  a  private  fancy 
of  her  own  to  nurse  -  any  reason  is  enough  to  excuse  a  lady. 
or  for  a  gentleman  to  cease  pressing  her." 

"  JJear  me  !  "  muttered  Cadet,  "  the  wind  blows  fresh  from 
a  new  quarter!  It  is  easterly,  and  jjetokens  a  storm!"  and 
with  drunken  gravity  he  commenced  singing  a  hunting  re- 
frain of  Louis  XIV. : 

"  '  Sitot  qu'il  voit  sa  Chienne 
II  quitte  tout  pour  die.'" 

Bigot  burst  out  into  immoderate  laughter.  "  Cadet,"  said 
he,  "  you  are,  when  drunk,  the  greatest  ruffian  in  Christen- 
dom, and  the  biggest  knave  when  sober.  Let  the  lady  sleep 
in  peace,  while  we  drink  ourselves  blind  in  her  honor.  Hring 
in  brandy,  valets,  and  we  will  not  look  for  day  until  midnight 
booms  on  the  old  clock  of  the  Chateau.'' 

The  loud  knocking  of  Philibert  in  the  great  hall  rever- 
berated again  and  again  through  the  house.  Jiigot  bade  the 
valets  go  see  who  disturbed  the  Chateau  in  that  bold  style. 

*'  Let  no  one  in  !  "  added  he  —  "  'tis  against  the  rule  to 
open  the  doors  when  the  CJrand  Company  are  met  for  busi- 
ness !  Take  whips,  valets,  and  scourge  the  insolent  beg- 
gars away.  Some  miserable  habitans,  I  warrant,  whining 
for  the  loss  of  their  eggs  and  bacon  taken  by  the  King's 
purveyors  !  " 

A  servant  returned  with  a  card  on  a  silver  salver.  "  An 
officer  in  uniform  waits  to  see  your  Kxcellency  :  he  brings 
orders  from  the  Governor,"  said  he  to  the  Intendant. 

iiigot  looked  at  the  card  with  knitted  brows;  fire  sparkled 
in  his  eyes  as  he  read  the  name. 

"Colonel  Philil)ert!"  exclaimed  he,  "  Aide-de-Campof  the 
Governor!  What  the  fiend  brings  him  at  such  a  time?  Do 
you  hear  ?  "  continued  he,  turning  to  Varin.  "  It  is  your  friend 
from  Louisbourg,  who  was  going  to  put  you  in  irons,  and 
send  you  to  France  for  trial  when  the  mutinous  garrisi)n 
threatened  to  surrender  the  place  if  we  ditl  not  pay  them." 

Varin  was  not  so  intoxicated  but  the  name  of  Philibcil 


ARKIVAL    or    nill  KK    I'll  I  I.IIJKKT. 


jroiised  his  angt 

the  table.     "  I  > 
[said    lie;    "  cun 

nul  have  select 
jheauinanoir  ? 
|{lLi)t()rs,  and  h( 
lal  L(niisbourg." 
"Tut,  tut,  shi 
Igentlcinen,"  rep 
|(  (ilonel  I'hilibe; 
\j)i<'n  !  we  are  sc 

Hut  whether 
jspoken.  when,  ir 
[tage  of  the  open 
[in  utter  amazen 
Iriot  which  he  bt 
Itdiijiues,  the  di: 
Idchauch  sickent 
Irank  and  high  c 
ling  of  indignatic 
Iwhile  lie  delivert 
Higot,  howeve 
iriL'ss.  "  Welcom 
limoxi)ected  giies 
lliospitality  of  Bt 

hustle,  valets,  bi 
iC'uionel  Philiberi 
''Thanks  for  ) 
[wiij  please  excu: 

iinc  is  not  my  o\ 
pcncy  the  (lover 

viiyal  C'oniniissr 
ll'i'spatches  have 

iiul  the  council  i 
A  red  Hush  ri 

iiiiul  he  measure 

ic  fitness  of  the 
Iclcclined  the  olTi 
Rble,  with  a  bo^ 

^iis  about  to  dep 

J»  the  table  cried 


CAROLINE    DE    ST.    CASTIN. 


89 


jrousL'cl  his  anger.  He  set  his  cup  down  with  a  bang  upon 
|lhe  l.ible.  "  1  will  not  taste  a  drop  more  till  he  is  gone," 
Lsaid  lie;  "curse  Galissoniere's  crooked  neck  —  could  he 
jnol  have  selected  a  more  welcome  messenger  to  send  to 
llciuimanoir  ?  IJut  I  have  got  his  name  in  my  list  of 
Idchlois,  and  he  shall  pay  up  one  day  for  his  insolence 
lat  L(niisbourg." 

"Tut,  tut,  shut  up  your  books!  you  are  too  mercantile  for 
Lontleinen,"  replied  Higot.  "The  question  is,  shall  we  allow 
|(  oloiiel  I'hilibert  to  bring  his  orders  into  the  hall?  /\ir 
\j)iru .'  we  are  scarcely  presentable  !  " 

liut  whether  presentable  or  no,  the  words  were  .scarcely 
[spoken,  when,  impatient  at  the  delay,  I'hilibert  took  advan- 
Itage  of  the  open  door  and  entered  the  great  hall.  He  stood 
lin  utter  amazement  for  a  moment  at  the  scene  of  drunken 
Iriot  which  he  beheld.  The  inHamed  faces,  the  confusion  of 
jtonniies,  the  disorder,  tilth,  and  stench  of  the  prolonged 
|clcl)iuich  sickened  him,  while  the  sight  of  so  many  men  of 
Irank  and  high  office  revelling  at  such  an  hour  raised  a  feel- 
jiiij;  of  indignation  which  he  had  difficulty  in  keeping  down 
|\\hile  he  delivered  his  message  to  the  Intendant. 

Higot,  however,  was  too  shrewd  to  be  wanting  in  polite- 
inL'ss.  "  Welcome,  Colonel  Fhilibert,"  said  he  ;  "  you  are  an 
|imt'.\i)ected  guest,  but  a  welcome  one  !  Come  and  taste  the 
Jliitspitality  of  lieaumanoir  before  you  deliver  your  message. 
jiiu^lle,  valets,  bring  fresh  cups  and  the  fullest  carafes  for 
ICulunel  Philibert." 

"Thanks  for  your  politeness,  Chevalier  !     Your  Excellency 

kill  please  excuse  me  if  I  deliver  my  message  at  once.     My 

time  is  not  my  own  to-day,  so  I  will  not  sit  down.     His  Ivvcel- 

jincy  the  (lovernor  desires  your  ])resence  and  that  of  the 

|J<(iyal  Connnissaries  at  the  council  of   war  this  afternoon. 

I'cspalches  have  just  arrived  by  the  J'^cnr-ik-Lis  from  home, 

iiul  the  council  must  assemble  at  once." 

A  red  Hush  rested  upon  the  brow  of  IMiilibert  as  in  his 
iiiiul  lie  measured  the  important  business  of  the  council  with 
the  titness  of  the  men  whom  he  siwnmoned  to  attend  it.  He 
ieclincd  the  olTer  of  wine,  and  stepped  backward  from  the 
^;il)le,  with  a  bow  to  the  Intendant  and  the  company,  and 
iis  about  to  depart,  when  a  loud  voice  on  the  further  side 
Df  the  table  cried  out,  — 


90 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


'*  It  is  he,  by  all  that  is  sacred  !  Pierre  Philihcrt  !  wait 
Le  (lardeau  de  Kepentigny  rushed  like  a  storm  throu^^li  thJ 
hall,  upsetlinj^  chairs  and  guests  in  his  advance.  Hr  r.l 
towards  Colonel  IMiilihert,  who,  not  recognizing  the  tiuslicj 
face  and  disordered  figure  that  greeted  him,  shrank  bau| 
from  iiis  eml^race. 

"My  God  I  do  you  not  know  me,  Pierre.''"  exclaimed  bl 
(iardeur,  woiuuled  to  the  c|uick  by  the  astonished  look  :| 
his   friend.     "  I    am   Le  Gardeur  de    Kepentigny !     i)  du 
friend,  look  and  recognize  me  !  " 

I'hilibert  stood  transfixed  with  surprise  and  pain,  as  if  .i: 
arrow  had  stricken  his  eyes.  "  You !  you  Le  Gardeur  dJ 
Repentigny  ?  It  is  impossible!  Le  Gardeur  never  lookiT 
like  you  —  much  less,  was  ever  found  among  people  lik:| 
these  !  "  The  last  words  were  rashly  spoken,  ])ut  fortunak 
not  heard  amid  the  hui)bub  in  the  hall,  or  Philibert's  iii| 
might  have  paid  the  penalty  from  the  excited  guests. 

"  And  yet  it  is  true  ;  Pierre,  look  at  me  again.  I  am  nl 
other  than  he  whom  you  drew  out  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  tlj 
only  brother  of  Amelie  !  " 

Philibert  looked  hard  in  the  eyes  of  Le  Gardeur,  ;iii: 
doubted  no  longer.  Me  pressed  his  old  friend  to  his  lit'.in.| 
saying,  in  a  voice  full  of  pathos,  — 

"()  Le  (iardeur!  I  recogni/e  you  now,  but  under  wiiil 
change  of  look  and  place!  Often  have  I  forecast  our  mec:[ 
ing  again,  but  it  was  in  your  pure,  virtuous  home  of  rilhj 
not  in  this  place.     What  do  you  here,  Le  Gardeur?" 

"  Forgive  me,  Pierre,  for  the  shame  of  meeting  me  here, 
Le  Gardeur  stood  up  like  a  new  man  in  the  glance  of  hi' 
friend ;  the  shock  seemed  to  have  sobered  him  at  ontcl 
'"What  do  I  do  here.''  say  you,  ()  dear  friend  I  "  said  litl 
glancing  round  the  hall,  "it  is  easier  .seen  than  told  whal 
I  ilo  here.  Put  by  all  the  saints,  I  have  finished  hcru  fui 
to-tlay  !     \'ou  return  to  the  city  at  once,  Pierre  ? " 

"  .U  once,  I,e  Gardeur.    The  Governor  awaits  my  return. I 

"Then  I  will  return  with  you.       My  dear  aunt  and  .sisk:| 
are  in  the  city.     News  of  their  arrival  reached  me  here ; 
duty  was  to  return  at  once,  but  the   Intendanl's  winc-cupl 
were  too  potent  for  me  —  curse  them,  for  they  have  di.sgraca| 
me  in  your  eyes,  Pierre,  as  well  as  my  own !  " 

I'hilibert    started   at   the  information  that   Ame'lie  \\asi:| 


Hie  city.  "  Ann 
)ii-,c.  ••  I  did  nc 
lohlc  I.adv  de  'I 
U  iIk;  |)n;spect  > 
is  iJKiughts  foi 
)f  so  much  that 
'  (  nine,  Le  G 
ind  return  at  on 
K\  Hiiiliiig,  as  L 
■)\  .ncDinpanyin: 
all.  ••  Not  in  ' 
loan  }()urself ;  I 
)f  this  room  stiti 
■  \'ou  are  not 
called,  across  tl 
^Vait  till  we  fini 
KiUflher." 

"  I  have  finisl 
lorevtr  I     ( 'olont 
iiist  leave  even  ' 
"  \()u  are  exc 
kt'ously  to  him,  ii 
^onshi|)  with  Phi 
L'athedral  bells 
l\"()U  i;o,  J,e  Gar( 
he  same,  or  he  \ 
•'  \()t  one  dro 
3()culiim  !  "       Li 
roadilv  as  he  felt 
'hilih'ert. 
"Well,  :is  you 
lul  ()\er,  I    dare 
lliuts  (IS  to  the  1)1 
>iiiUi(l  in  the  in 
i'hilibert,  with 
Jilt  and  the  con 
I'ardeur.  whom  t 
imie  he  left  the 
jiiinrphosed  into 
[ndiiess  about  thi 
|la>i  night's  dcbai 


CAKOLINK    l)K    ST.    CASTIN. 


91 


ihr  (itv.  "  AiiK'lii'  ill  the  city  ?"  repeated  he.  with  glad  siir- 
)ii->i'.  •■  I  did  not  expect  to  be  ahle  to  salute  her  and  the 
loliic  Lady  de  'I'illy  so  soon."  His  heart  boinided  in  secret 
ll  ihf  i)rospect  of  a_i;ain  seeini;  this  fair  i,nrl,  who  had  filled 
lis  iiK)ii,L;hts  for  so  many  years  and  been  the  secret  sj^ring 
)f  so  imich  that  was  noble  and  manly  in  his  character. 

'  (  oine,  Le  Clardeur,  lei  us  take  lea\e  of  the  Intendant. 
iml  return  at  once  to  the  city,  but  not  in  that  plight !  "  added 
K'.  Miiiling,  as  Le  (iardeur,  ol)li\ious  of  all  but  the  pleasure 
)t  auompanying  him,  grasi)etl  his  arm  to  leave  the  great 
jll.  ••Not  in  that  garb,  Le  (Jardeur!  IJathe,  purify,  and 
Ic-in  yourself ;  I  will  wait  outside  in  the  fresh  air.  'i'he  odor 
)f  this  room  stifles  me  !  " 

•  \  ()u  are  not  going  to  leave  us,  Le  Ciardeur  !  "  Varin 
:allc(l.  across  the  table,  "  and  break  up  good  company  ? 
I^Vait  till  we  finish  a  few  more  rounds,  and  we  will  all  go 
jt()ij,c'llier." 

'  I  have  finished  all  the  rounds  for  to-day,  Varin,  may  be 
lorovcr!  Colonel  I'hilibert  is  my  dearest  friend  in  life;  1 
must  leave  even  you  to  go  with  iiini,  so  pray  excuse  me." 

"  \0u  are  excused,  Le  (Iardeur."  iJigot  spoke  very  cour- 
jtt'cnisly  to  him,  much  as  he  disliked  the  idea  of  his  conipan- 
fonsl)i|)  with  I'hilibert.  "  We  must  all  return  by  the  time  the 
L'atlKclral  bells  chime  noon.  Take  (;ne  parting  cup  before 
\ju\\  l;(),  Le  (Iardeur.  and  prevail  on  Colonel  I'liililjert  to  do 
the  same,  or  he  will  not  praise  our  hospitalit}',  1  fear." 

"  N'ot  one  drop  more  this  day,  were  it  from  Jove's  own 
poculuin  ! "  Le  (Iardeur  rei^elled  the  temptation  more 
rcadilv  as  he  felt  a  twitch  on  his  sleeve  from  the  hand  of 
I'hililK-rt. 

"Well,  as  you  will,  Le  (lard(Mir;  we  have  all  had  enough 
311(1  over,  I  dare  sav.  Ha!  ha!  C'oloiu'l  I'hilibert  rather 
jpMls  (IS  to  the  blush,  or  would  were  not  our  cheeks  .so  well- 
'linlcd  in  the  hues  of  rosy  Hacchus." 

I'hililiert,  with  olilicial  courtesy,  bade  adieu  to  the  Intend- 
ant aiul  the  company.  A  couple  of  valets  waited  ujion  Le 
[Iardeur,  whom  they  assisted  to  bathe  and  dress.  In  a  short 
time  he  left  the  Chateau  almost  sobered,  and  wholly  ineta- 
liiinrpliosed  into  a  haiulsome,  fresh  chevalier.  A  perver.se 
Irtdness  about  the  eyes  alone  remained,  to  tell  the  tale  of  the 
|l.i>i  iii'dit's  debauch. 


92 


THK    (JOLDKN    DUG. 


Master  Pothier  sal  on   a  horse-block  at  the  door  with 
the   };ravity  of   a   JiuIl^c,  while  he   waited  for  the  return 
Colonel    I'hilibert   and    listened   to   the   lively   noise   in  ;:j 
Chateau,   the   music,   song,   and   jingle   of  glass   forniin- 
sweet  concert  in  the  ears  of  the  jolly  old  notary. 

"I  shall  not  need  you  to  guide  ine  back,  Master  Pothk 
said   I'hilibert.  as  he  put  some  silver  i)ieces  in   his   lioll 
palm;  "take  your  fee.     The  cause  is  gained,  is  it  ncjt.  I.J 
(iardeur?"      He  glanced  triumphantly  at  his  friend. 

"(iood-by.  Master  Pothier,"  said  he,  as  he  rode  off  v, 
Le  Cxardeur.  The  old  notary  could  not  keep  up  with  iht 
but  came  jolting  on  behind,  well  pleased  to  have  leisure:! 
count  and  jingle  his  coins.  Master  I'othier  was  in  that  m,, 
of  joyful  anticijjation  when  hoj)e  outruns  realization.  Hj 
already  saw  him.self  seated  in  the  old  armchair  in  the  mi, 
parlor  of  Dame  IJedard's  inn,  his  back  to  the  lire,  his  bcij 
to  the  table,  a  smoking  dish  of  roast  in  the  middle,  an  ampJ 
trencher  before  him  with  a  bottle  of  Cognac  on  one  riarJ 
and  a  jug  of  Norman  cider  on  the  other,  an  old  crony  or  tvl 
to  eat  and  drink  with  him,  and  the  light  foot  and  deft  harij 
of  pretty  /oe  IJedard  to  wait  upon  them. 

This  picture  of    perfect  l)liss  floated  before  the  wiiikii 
eyes  of  Master   Pothier,  and  his  mouth  watered  in  anticipJ 
tion  of  his  Kden,  not  of  Mowers  and  Irees,  but  of  tables.  (iipJ 
and  platters,  with  plenty  to  fill  them,  and  to  empty  iherj 
as  well. 

"A  worthy  gentleman   and  a  brave  officer,   I  warrant! 
said   I'othier,  as  he  jogged  along.     "  He   is  generous  ;b 
prince,   and   considerate   as  a   bishop,  tit   for  a  judge,  nil 
for  a  chief  justice!     What  would  you  do  for  him,   Masiri 
Pothier.^"   the  old   notary   asked    him.self.     "I    answer  m 
interrogatory  of  the  Court  :   I  would  draw  up  his  nianid 
contract,  write  his  last  will  and  testament  with  the  giiMtea 
of  pleasure  and   without  a  fee!  —  and   no  notary   iu  Nd 
France   could  do   more   for   him  !  "      Pothier's    imagiuati  | 
fell  into  a  vision  over  a  consideration  of  his  favorite  text 
that  of  the  great  sheet,  wherein  was  all  manner  of  flesh  anil 
fowl  good  for  food,  but  the  tongue  of  the  old  notary  wouiJ 
trip  at  the  name  of  Peter,  and  perversely  say,  "  Rise,  Pothier | 
kill,  and  eat." 


hcrre  I'hilibert  ? 


••('hanjred.^     Oh 


CHAPTER    IX. 


PIERRK    PHII.IRERT. 


^OI.ONKI,   PMIIJI5KRT  and  I.e  (lardeur  rode  rapidly 

throiijrh  the  forest  of  Heaumanoir,  pullinjjj  up  occasion- 

i\  in  ail  eaj^er  and  sympathetic  exchange  of  cpiestions  and 

|tplic>,  as  they  recounted  the  events  of  tlieir  lives  since  their 

pa  ration,  or  recalled  their  school-days  and  ;;lorious  holi- 

|a\s  and   rambles  in    the   woods   of   Tilly       with   fretpient 

nention  of  their  gentle,  fair  companion,  Amelie  de  Repen- 

Lmiv.  whose  name  on  the  lij^sof  her  lirother  sounded  sweeter 

laii  the  chime  of  the  bells  of  Charlebourg  to  the  ear  of  I'ierre 

hililHTt. 

riu;  bravest  man  in  \ew  France  felt  a  tremor  in  his  breast 
[she  asked  Le  (lardeur  a  seemingly  careless  question  — 
LTiniiigly,  for,  in  truth,  it  was  vital  in  the  last  degree  to  his 
[appincss.  and  he  knew  it.  He  expressed  a  fear  that  Amelie 
Voukl  iiave  wholly  forgotten  him  after  so  long  an  absence 
rim  \ew  I'Yance. 

His  heart  almost  ceased  beating  as  he  waited  the  reply 

|f  i,e  (lardeur,  which  came  impetuously :  "  Forgotten  you, 

Jieric  IMiilibert  ?     She  would  forget  me  as  soon  !     l^ut  for 

lou  she  would  have  had  no  brother  to-day,  and  in  her  pray- 

rs  she  ever  remembers  both  of  us  ~    you  by  right  of  a  sis- 

fer's  j^'ratitude,  me  because   I    am   unworthy  of   her  saintly 

irayeis  and    need    them    all    the    more  !      O    Pierre    I'hili- 

ert.  you  do  not  know  Amelie  if  you  think  she  is  one  ever 

foiLjt'i  a  friend  like  you!  " 

The  heart  of   Philibert  gave  a  great  leap  for  joy.     Too 
|appy  for  speech,  he  rode  on  a  while  in  silence. 

Amelie  will   have   changed   much    in   appearance?"    he 
sked.  at  last.     A  thousand  questions  were  crowding  upon 
lips. 

"(hanged?     Oh,  yes!"  replied  Le  Gardeur,  gaily.     "I 
carccly  recognize   my  little   bright-eyed   sister   in  the   tall, 

93 


94 


■|iii;   fioi.Dl.x    Dod. 


perfect  you nji  l.uly  tli;it  lias  taken  her  place.  lUil  tlic  k 
inj;  heart,  the  pure  mind,  the  ;;entle  ways,  and  \\ii)nir, 
smiles  are  the  same  as  ever.  She  is  somewhat  mori-  ^t 
and  thou;j;htful,  perhaps  more  strict  in  the  ol).ser\  aixcj 
of  reliirion.  N'ou  will  remember.  I  used  to  call  her  in  !(.->• 
our  St.  Amelie  :  I  mi<;ht  call  her  that  in  earnest  now,  l'it;rr: 
and  she  would  he  worthy  of  the  name  !  " 

"(iod  bless  you,  Le  (Jardeur !  "  burst  out  Colonel  I'h 
bert,  his  voice  could  not  repress  the  emotion  he  felt. 
"and  (Iod  bless. \melie  !  Think  you  she  would  care  lo  sctl 
me  to-day,  Le  (Jardeur.^"  I'hilibert's  th(ni<;hts  Hew  far  arJ 
fast,  and  his  desire  to  know  more  of  .\melic  was  a  r.uk 
suspen.se  to  him.  She  mi_L;ht,  indeed,  recollect  the  yiM'l 
Pierre  IMiilibert,  thought  he,  as  she  did  a  sunbeam  liJ 
j^laddened  lonij;-past  summers  ;  but  how  could  he  e.Kjiec  l  Ikj 
to  re}.(ard  him  —  the  full-grow n  man  —  as  the  same  ?  N.  I 
was  he  not  nursing  a  fatal  fancy  in  his  breast  that  woiu 
sting  him  to  death  ?  for  among  the  gay  and  gallant  tliiniij 
about  the  capital  was  it  not  more  than  j)ossil)lc  that 
lovely  and  amiable  a  woman  had  already  been  wooed.  arJ 
given  the  priceless  treasure  of  her  love  to  another  ? 
was,  therefore,  with  no  conunon  feeling  that  I'hiliberl  ^ain 
"Think  you  she  will  care  to  see  me  to-day,  Le  dardeur?" 

"Care  to  see  you,  I'ierre  IMiilibert.''  What  a  cjuesiiurj 
She  and  Aunt  de  Tilly  take  every  occasion  to  remind  iikI 
of  you,  by  way  of  example,  to  shame  me  of  my  faults  ani 
they  succeed,  too  !  I  could  cut  off  my  right  haiul  tit 
moment,  I'ierre,  that  it  should  never  lift  wine  again  to  iiii 
lips  —  and  to  have  been  seen  by  you  in  such  comixim| 
What  must  you  think  of  me  ? " 

"  I  think  your  regret  could  not  surpass  mine;  but  till 
how  you  have  been  drawn  into  these  rapids  and  taken 
wrong  turn,  Tx'  (lardeur  } ',' 

Le  (iardeur  winced  as  he  replied, — "Oh,  I  do  not  kim| 
I  found  myself  there  before  I  thought.  It  was  the  wii 
wine,  and  enchantments  of  15igot,  I  suppose,  —  and  tiiij 
greatest  temptation  of  all,  a  woman's  smiles, — that  lai  ni| 
to  take  the  wrong  turn,  as  you  call  it.  There,  you  ha\tm| 
confession  !  and  I  would  put  my  sword  through  any  m.^ 
but  you,  I'ierre,  who  dared  ask  me  to  give  such  an  accoiinl 
of  myself.     1  am  ashamed  of  it  all,  Pierre  Philibert !  " 


in  J,'  to  you,"  saic 


ri?:KKK    IMIII.inKKT. 


95 


Thanks,  Le  (l.ucleur,  for  your  coiitidence.  I  hope  you 
outride  this  storm!"  He  held  out  his  hand,  nervous 
Lid  sinewy  as  that  of  Mars.  Le  Gardeur  seized  it,  and 
Ircssod  it  hard  in  his.  "  Don't  you  think  it  is  still  able  to 
|e>ciie  a  friend  from  peril  ?  "  added  IMiilihert  smiling. 

c  (lardeur  caught  his   meaning,   and  gave   him  a   look 
^f  unutlerahle  gratitude.     '*  Besides  this  hand  of  mine,  are 
urt'  not  the  gentler  hands  of  Amelie  to  intercede  for  you 
nth  vour  better  self.''"  said  I'hilibert. 

•My  dear  sister!"  interjected  Le  (Jardeur.  ''I  am  a 
ouard  when  I  think  of  her,  and  I  shame  to  come  into  her 
lliiri,'  |iiosence." 
•Take  courage,  Le  (lardeur  !  There  is  h()])e  where  there 
shame  of  our  faults.  He  etpially  frank  with  your  sister  as 
nth  me,  and  she  will  win  you,  in  spite  of  yourself,  from  the 
[nchantments  of  i)igot,  ("adet,  and  the  still  more  potent 
Imik's  you  speak  of  that  led  you  to  take  the  wrong  turn  in 

Stc." 

••  1  doubt  it  is  too  late,  Pierre  !  although  I  know  that, 
*'t.rc  every  other  friend  in  the  world  to  forsake  me,  Amelie 

iiikl  not !  She  would  not  even  reproach  me,  except  by 
Excess  of  affection." 

i'hilibert  looked  on  his  friend  admiringly,  at  this  panegyric 

bf  the  woman  he  loved.      Le  (}ardeur  was  in  feature  so  like 

is  sister  that  Philibert  at  the  moment  caught  the  very  face 

bf  Amelie,  as  it  were,  looking  at  him  through  the  face  of  her 

Wither.     "  You  will  not  resist  her  pleadings,  Le  (jardeur," 

I'hilibert  thought  it  an  impossible  thing.  "  No  guardian 
|in;,'el  ever  clung  to  the  skirts  of  a  sinner  as  Amelie  will 

iii:,^  to  you,"  said  he ;  "  therefore  I  have  every  hope  of  my 
pear  friend  Le  Gardeur  Repentigny." 

The  two  riders  emerged  from  the  forest,  and  drew  up  for 

minute  in  front  of  the  hostelry  of  the  Crown  of  France,  to 
later  their  horses  at  the  long  trough  before  the  door  and 
^form  Dame  Hedard,  who  ran  out  to  greet  them,  that 
Master  Fothier  was  following  with  his  ambling  nag  at  a 
gentle  pace,  as  befitted  the  gravity  of  his  profession. 

"Oh!  Master  Pothier  never  fails  to  find  his  w-ay  to  the 
jown   of   France;   but  won't  your    Donors  take  a  cup  of 

ino?  The  day  is  hot  and  the  road  dusty.  'A  dry  rider 
lakes  a  wet  nag,'"  added  the  Dame,  with  a  smile,  as  she 


96 


THE    (iCM.OEN    DOG, 


repeated   an  old  sayin<i;,  brought  over  with  the  rest  of  thti 
/'//////  in  the  ships  of  C'artier  and  Champlain. 

The    gentlemen    bowed    their    thanks,    and    as    Philihinl 
looked  up,  he  saw  pretty  Zoe  Hedard  poring  over  a  sheet  o! 
paper  bearing  a  retl  seal,  and  spelling  out  the  crabbed  law 
text  of  Master   Pothicr.     Zoe,  like  other  girls  of  her  cia>,v| 
had  received  a  tincture  of  learning  in  the  day  schools  of  the 
nuns;  but,  although  the  paper  was  her  marriage  contract.!: 
puzzled  her  greatly  to  pick  out  the  few  chips  of  plain  sen^c| 
that  floated  in  the  sea  of  legal  verbiage  it  contained,     /ov 
with  a  perfect  comprehension  (A   the   claims  of  mcnni  ancl 
tidun^  was  at  no  loss,  however,  in  arriving  at  a  satisfacton 
solution  of  the  true  merits  of  her  matrimonial  contract  witrf 
honest  Antoine  I.a  Chance, 

She    caught    the    eye    of    Philibert,   and    blushed    to  ilii 
very    chin   as   she    huddled    away   the   paper   and   retuniecl 
the  salute  of   the    two    handsome    gentlemen,    who,    havi 
refreshed  their   horses,   rode  off  at  a  rapid  trot   down  t 
great  highway  that  led  to  the  city. 

Habet  Le  Nocher,  In  a  new  gown,  short  enough  to  rcvwl 
a  pair  of  shapely  ankles  in  clocked  stockings  and  well-dac 
feet  that  would  have  been  the  envy  of  many  a  duchess,  sai] 
on  the  thwart  of  the  boat  knitting.  Her  black  hair  was  ii: 
the  fashion  recorded  by  the  grave  Peter  Kalm,  who,  in  hi> 
account  of  New  France,  says,  '•  The  peasant  women  all  \\a\ 
their  hair  in  ringlets,  and  nice  they  look  !  " 

'*  As  I  live!"  exclaimed  she  to  Jean,  who  was  enjoyiiiiji 
pipe  of  native  tobacco,  "here  comes  that  handsome  otTux: 
l)ack  again,  and  in  as  great  a  hurry  to  return  as  he  wasK 
go  up  the  highway  !  " 

"Ay,  ay,  Jkibet !     It  is  plain  to  see  he  is  either  on  th- 
King's  errand  or  his  own.     A  fair  lady  awaits  his  return  ir.| 
the  city,  or  one  has  just  dismissed  him  where  he  has  been' 
Nothing  like  a  woman  to  put  quicksilver  in  a  man's  shoes-] 
eh!  llabet?" 

"(^r   foolish   thoughts   into  their    hearts,  Jean!"   rcplie(i| 
she,  laughing. 

"And  nothing  more  natural,  Habet,  if  women's  hearts  aicl 
wise  enough   in  their  folly  to  like  our  foolish   thoughts  ci 
them,      l^ut   there   are   two!     Who   is  that    riding   with  \\\A 
gentleman  t     Your  eyes  are  better  than  mine,  Habet  !  " 


PIKRKI':    I'HILiUKKT, 


97 


"Of  ccnirse,  Jean  !  that  is  what  I  always  tell  you,  but  you 
won't  believe  me  —  trust  my  eyes,  and  doubt  your  own  ! 
The  other  gentleman,"  said  she,  looking  fixedly,  while  her 
knitting  lay  still  in  her  lap,  "the  other  is  tl  o  young 
Chevalier  cle  Kepentigny.  What  brings  him  back  before 
the  rest  of  the  hunting  party,  I  wonder  ? " 

"That  officer  must  have  been  to  lieaumanoir,  and  is 
bringing  the  young  seigneur  back  to  town,"  remarked  Jean, 
piiiinig  out  a  long  thread  of  smoke  from  his  lips. 

"  Well,  it  must  be  something  better  than  smoke,  Jean  ! " 
—  liabet  coughed:  she  never  liked  the  pipe — -"The  young 
chevalier  is  always  one  of  the  last  to  give  up  when  they 
h.ne  one  of  their  three  days  drinking  bouts  up  at  the 
Chateau.  He  is  going  to  the  bad,  I  fear  —  more's  the  pity! 
Such  a  nice,  handsome  fellow,  too!" 

"All  lies  and  calumny!*'  replied  Jean,  'v.\  a  heat,  "  Le 
(Jardeur  de  Repentigny  is  the  son  of  my  dear  old  seigneur. 
He  may  get  drunk,  but  it  will  be  like  a  gentleman  if  he 
does,  and  not  like  a  carter,  Uabet,  or  like  a  — " 

"l!(7atman!  JL.m;  but  I  don't  include  you  -  you  have 
never  been  the  worse  for  drinking  water  since  1  took  care  of 
your  licpior,  Jean  !  " 

'*  Ay,  you  are  intoxication  enough  of  yourself  for  me, 
iiabel  !  'I'wo  bright  eyes  like  yours,  a  pipe  and  bitters, 
with  grace  before  meat,  would  save  any  Christian  man  in 
this  world."  'can  stood  up,  politely  dofling  his  red  tuc|ue 
to  the  gentlemen.  Le  (lardeur  stooped  from  his  horse  to 
;;iasi)  his  hand,  for  Jean  had  been  an  old  servitor  at  Tilly,  and 
the  \()ung  seigneur  was  too  noble-minded  and  polite  to  omit 
.1  ku.dly  notice  of  e\en  the  humblest  of  his  accjuaintance. 

"Had  a  busy  day,  Jean,  with  the  old  ferry  .^  "  asked  Le 
iCiiirdeur,  cheerily. 

"  No,  your  Honor,  l)ut  yesterday  1  think  half  the  country- 
jside  crossed  over  to  the  city  on   the    King's  ^vvr/v.        The 
jmen  went  to  work,  and  tlie,  women  followed  to  look  after 
K'ui.  ha!  ha!"     Jean   winked  provokingly  at  Jiabet,  who 
[took  him  up  sharply. 

"And  why  should  not  the  women  go  after  the  men?     I 
[trow  men  are  not  so  plentiful  in  New  l'"raiice  as  they  used  to 
•■  l)efore  this  weary  war  began.    It  well  behooves  the  women 
Itutake  good  care  of  all  that  are  left." 


98 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


"  That  is  true  as  the  Sunday  sermon,"  remarked  Jean. 
"  Why,  it  was  only  the  other  day  I  heard  that  great  fonign 
gentleman,  who  is  the  guest  of  His  Excellency  the  Governor, 
say,  sitting  in  this  very  boat,  that  '  there  are  at  this  time 
four  women  to  every  man  in  New  France  ! '  If  that  is  true, 
Babet,  —  and  you  know  he  said  it,  for  you  were  angry  enough, 
—  a  man  is  a  prize  indeed,  in  New  France,  and  women  are 
plenty  as  eggs  at  Faster  !  " 

"  The  foreign  gentleman  had  much  assurance  to  say  it. 
even  if  it  were  true :  he  were  much  better  employed  picking 
up  weeds  and  putting  them  in  his  book  !  "  exclaimed  Babet, 
hotly. 

"  Come  !  come  !  "  cried  Le  Gardeur,  interrupting  thi^ 
debate  on  the  population ;  *'  Providence  knows  the  worth 
of  Canadian  women,  and  cannot  give  us  too  many  of  them, 
We  are  in  a  hurry  to  get  to  the  city,  Jean,  so  let  us  embark, 
My  aunt  and  Amelie  are  in  the  old  home  in  the  city;  thev 
will  be  glad  to  see  you  and  Habet,"  added  he,  kindly,  as  he 
got  into  the  boat. 

Babet  dropped  her  neatest  courtesy,  and  Jean,  all  alive 
to  his  duty,  pushed  ofif  his  boat,  bearing  the  two  gentlemen 
and  their  horses  across  the  broad  St.  Charles  to  the  King's 
Quay,  where  they  remounted,  and  riding  past  the  huge  pal- 
ace of  the  Intendant,  dashed  up  the  steep  Cote  au  Chieii 
and  through  the  city  gate,  disappearing  from  the  eyes  of 
Babet,  who  looked  very  admiringly  after  them.  Her  thoughts 
were  especially  commendatory  of  the  handsome  officer  in 
full  uniform  who  had  been  so  polite  and  generous  in  the 
morning. 

"  I  was  afraid,  Jean,  you  were  going  to  blurt  out  abniit 
Mademoiselle  des  Meloises,"  remarked  Habet  to  Jean  on  his 
return  ;  "men  are  so  indiscreet  always  !  " 

"  Leaky  boats  !  leaky  boats  1  Babet  I  no  rowing  them  with 
a  woman  aboard  I  sure  to  run  on  the  bank.  But  what  about 
Mademoiselle  des  Meloises }  "  Honest  Jean  had  pa.sstd 
her  over  the  ferry  an  hour  ago,  and  been  sorely  templed  tn 
inform  Le  Gardeur  of  the  interesting  fact. 

"What  about  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises?"  Babet  sjioke 
rather  sharply.  ''  Why,  all  Quebec  knows  that  the  Seigneur 
de  Kepentigny  is  mad  in  love  with  her." 

"  And  why  should  he  not  be  mad  in  love  with  her  if  he 


PIERRK    PHILIRERT. 


99 


Jean,  |  likes  ? "  replied  Jean ;  "  she  is  a  morsel  fit  for  a  king,  and 
if  Le  (iardeur  should  lose  both  his  heart  and  his  wits  on  her 
account,  it  is  only  what  half  the  gallants  of  Quebec  have 
done." 

"Oh,  Jean,  Jean!  it  is  plain  to  see  you  have  an  eye  in 
voiir  head  as  well  as  a  soft  place  !  "  ejaculated  Habet,  re- 
commencing her  knitting  with  fresh  vigor,  and  working  off 
the  electricity  that  was  stirring  in  her. 

"  1  had  two  eyes  in  my  head  when  I  chose  you,  Babet, 
and  the  soft  place  was  in  my  heart!"  replied  Jean,  heartily. 
The  compliment  was  taken  with  a  smile,  as  it  deserved  to 
be.  "  Look  you,  liabet,  I  would  not  give  this  pinch  of 
snuff,"  said  Jean,  raising  his  thumb  and  two  fingers  holding 
a  good  dose  of  the  pungent  dust,  — '' 1  would  not  give  this 
pinch  of  snuff  for  any  young  fellow  who  could  be  indiffer- 
ent to  the  charms  of  such  a  pretty  lass  as  Angelique  des 
Meloises ! " 

"Well,  I  am  glad  you  did  not  tell  the  Seigneur  de  Re- 
pentigny  that  she  had  crossed  the  ferry  and  gone  not  to 
look  for  him,  I'll  be  bound !  I  will  tell  you  something  by 
and  by,  Jean,  if  you  will  come  in  and  eat  your  dinner;  1  have 
something  you  like." 

"What  is  it,  Babet?"  Jean  was,  after  all,  more  curious 
about  his  dinner  than  about  the  fair  lady. 

"Oh,  something  you  like — that  is  a  wife's  secret:  keep 
iho  stomach  of  a  man  warm,  and  his  heart  will  never  grow 
cold.     What  say  you  to  fried  eels  ?  " 

"  Bravo !  "  cried  the  gay  old  boatman,  as  he  sang,  — 

'••Ah!  ;ili  !  ah!  frit  ti  rhuile, 
Frit  au  heurre  et  a  I'ognon !  '  " 


and  the  jolly  couple  danced  into  their  little  cottage 
king  and  queen  in  Christendom  half  so  happy  as  they. 


no 


;t  S|)okL' 
ieigneur 


CHAPTER    X. 


AMKF-IE    I)E    REPKNTIC.NY. 


vi 


li; !  I 


THK  town  house  of  the  L;icly  de  Tilly  stood  on  the  upper 
part  of  the  Place  d'Arnies,  a  broad,  roughly-pavai 
square.  The  Chateau  of  St.  Louis,  with  its  massive  build- 
ings and  high,  peaked  roofs,  filled  one  side  of  the  square 
On  the  other  side,  embowered  in  ancient  trees  thH  had  iv 
caped  the  axe  of  Champl.iin's  hardy  followers,  stoc>d  the  old- 
fashioned  Monastery  of  the  Recollets,  with  its  high  belfry  and 
broad  shady  porch,  where  the  monks  in  gray  gowns  and 
sandals  sat  in  summer,  reading  their  breviaries  or  exchang- 
ing salutations  with  the  passers-by,  who  always  had  a  kind 
greeting  for  the  brothers  of  St.  Francis. 

The  mansion  of  the  Lady  de  IMlly  was  of  stone,  spacioib 
and  ornate,  as  became  the  rank  and  wealth  of  the  Seigncui> 
de  Tilly.  It  overlooked  the  IMace  d' Amies  and  the  nohic 
gardens  of  the  Chateau  of  St.  Louis,  with  a  magnilicvn! 
sweep  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  flowing  majestically  under  il.e 
fortress-crowned  cape  and  the  high,  wooded  hills  of  Lau/oii 
the  farther  side  of  the  river  closing  the  view. 

In  the  recess  of  an  ornate  nuillioned  window,  half  con- 
cealed by  the  rich,  heavy  curtains  of  a  noble  room,  AiirIii 
de  Repentigny  sat  alone  —  very  quiet  in  look  and  demeami, 
but  no  little  agitated  in  mind,  as  might  be  noticed  in  tin 
nervous  contact  of  her  hands,  which  lay  in  her  lap  claspin; 
each  other  very  hard,  as  if  trying  to  steady  her  thoughts. 

Her  aunt  was  receiving  some  ladv  visitors  in  the  ureal 
drawing-room.  The  hum  of  loud  feminine  voices  reatho! 
the  ear  of  Amelie,  but  she  paid  no  attention,  so  absorbni 
was  she  in  the  new  and  strange  thoughts  that  had  stirri-d  in 
her  mind  since  morning,  when  she  had  learned  from  lln 
Chevalier  La  Corne  of  the  return  to  New  I'rance  of  Piciii 
Philibert.  The  news  had  surprised  her  to  a  degree  sin 
could  not  account  for.      Her  hrst  thought  was,  how  fortunato 

100 


AMELIE    HE    KEPENTIGNY. 


lOI 


for  her  brother  that  i'ierre  h;.d  returned  ;  her  second,  how 
aiirceiible  to  herself.  Why  ?  jhe  could  not  think  why  :  she 
wilfully  drew  an  inference  away  from  the  truth  that  lay  in 
her  heart  —  it  was  wholly  for  the  sake  of  her  brother  she 
rejoiced  in  the  return  of  his  friend  and  preserver.  Her  heart 
heat  a  little  faster  than  usual  —  that  was  the  result  of  her 
Ioiil;  walk  and  disappointment  at  not  meeting  Le  Gardeur 
on  her  arrival  yesterday.  But  she  feared  to  explore  her 
lhou;;hts :  a  rigid  self-examination  might  discover  what  she 
instinctively  felt  was  deeply  concealed  there. 

A  subtile,  indefinable  prevision  had  suggested  to  her  that 
Colonel  Philibert  would  not  have  failed  to  meet  Le  Gardeur 
at  I'eaumanoir,  and  that  he  would  undoubtedly  accompany 
her  brother  on  his  return  and  call  to  pay  his  respects  to  the 
Ladv  de  Tilly  and  —  to  herself.  She  felt  her  cheek  glow 
at  the  thought,  vet  she  was  half  vexed  at  her  own  foolish 
fancy,  as  she  called  it.  She  tried  to  call  upon  her  pride, 
but  that  came  very  laggardly  to  the  relief  of  her  discom- 
posure. 

Her  interview,  too,  with  Angelique  des  Meloises  had 
caused  her  no  little  disquiet.  The  bold  avowals  of  Ange- 
li(iue  with  reference  to  the  Intendant  had  shocked  Amelie. 
She  knew  that  her  brother  had  given  more  of  his  thoughts 
to  this  beautiful,  reckless  girl  than  was  good  for  his  peace, 
should  her  ambition  ever  run  counter  to  his  love. 

The  fond  sister  sighed  deeply  when  she  reflected  that  the 
woman  who  had  power  to  make  prize  of  Le  Gardeur's  love 
\Vas  not  worthy  of  him. 

It  is  no  rare  thing  for  loving  sisters  who  have  to  resign 
their  brothers  to  others'  keeping  to  think  so.  Hut  Amelie 
knew  that  Angelicjue  des  Meloises  was  incapable  of  that 
true  love  which  only  finds  its  own  in  the  happiness  of 
another.  She  was  vain,  selfish,  ambitious,  and  what 
.\n\elie  did  not  yet  know  -  posses.sed  of  neither  scruple  nor 
delicacy  in  attaining  her  objects. 

It  had  chimed  the  hour  of  noon  upon  the  old  cl(,)ck  of 
the  Recollets,  and  .\melie  still  sat  looking  wistfullv  over 
the  >;reat  scpiare  of  the  IMace  d'Armes,  and  cf.  iously  scan- 
Miu:^  every  horseman  that  rode  across  it.  A  throng  of 
pi-'opK'  moved  about  the  square,  or  passed  in  and  out  of  the 
ijUeat  arched  gateway  of  the  ( 'astle  of  St.  Louis.     A  bright 


I02 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


shield,  bearing  the  crown  and  fkur-dc-Us^  surmounted  the 
gate,  and  under  it  walked,  with  military  pace,  a  couple  of 
sentries,  their  muskets  and  bayonets  Hashing  out  in  the  sun 
every  time  they  wheeled  to  return  on  their  beat.  Occasion- 
ally there  was  a  ruffle  of  drums :  the  whole  guard  turned 
out  and  presented  arms,  as  some  officer  of  high  rank,  or 
ecclesiastical  dignitary,  passed  through  to  pay  his  resi)ech 
to  the  Governor,  or  transact  business  at  the  vice-regal  court. 
Gentlemen  on  foot,  with  chapeaux  and  swords,  carryinj;  a 
cloak  on  their  shoulders ;  ladies  in  visiting  dress ;  habitaib 
and  their  wives  in  unchanging  costume  ;  soldiers  in  uniform, 
and  black-gowned  clergy,  mingled  in  a  moving  picture  of 
city  life,  which,  had  not  Amelie's  thoughts  been  so  preoccu- 
pied to-day,  would  have  afforded  her  great  delight  to  look 
out  upon. 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  had  rather  wearied  of  the  visit  of 
the  two  ladies  of  the  city,  Madame  de  Grandmaison  and 
Madame  Couillard,  who  had  bored  her  with  all  the  current 
gossip  of  the  day.  They  were  rich  and  fashionable,  perfect 
in  etiquette,  costume,  and  most  particular  in  their  society: 
but  the  rank  and  position  of  the  noble  Lady  de  Tilly  made 
her  friendship  most  desirable,  as  it  conferred  in  the  eyes  of 
the  world  a  patent  of  gentility  which  held  good  against 
every  pretension  to  overtop  it. 

The  stream  of  city  talk  from  the  lips  of  the  two  ladies 
had  the  merit  of  being  perfect  of  its  kind  —  softly  insinuating 
and  sweetly  censorious,  superlative  in  eulogy  and  infallible 
in  opinion.  The  good  visitors  most  conscientiously  dis- 
charged what  they  deemed  a  great  moral  and  social  duty 
by  enlightening  the  Lady  de  Tilly  on  all  the  recent  lapses 
and  secrets  of  the  capital.  They  slid  over  slippery  topics 
like  skaters  on  thin  ice,  filling  their  listener  with  anxiety 
lest  they  should  break  through.  But  Madame  de  Grand- 
maison and  her  companion  were  too  well  exercised  in  the 
gynuiastics  of  gossip  to  overbalance  themselves.  Half 
Quebec  was  run  over  and  run  down  in  the  course  of  an 
hour. 

Lady  de  Tilly  listened  with  growing  impatience  to  their 
frivolities,  but  she  knew  society  too  well  to  quarrel  with  its 
follies  when  it  was  of  no  service  to  do  so  :  she  contented 
herself  with  hoping  it  was  not  so  bad.     The  Pope  was  not 


AMELIE    I)E    REPENTIGNY. 


103 


Catholic  enough  to  suit  some  people,  but,  for  her  part,  she 
ha.i  generally  found  people  better  than  they  were  called. 

A  rather  loud  but  well-bred  exclamation  of  Madame  de 
Grandmaison  roused  Amelie  from  her  day-dream. 

*'  Not  going  to  the  Intendant's  ball  at  the  Palace,  my  Lady 
de  Tilly !  neither  you  nor  Mademoiselle  de  Repentigny, 
whom  we  are  so  sorry  not  to  have  seen  to-day  ?  Why,  it  is 
to  be  the  most  magnificent  affair  ever  got  up  in  New  France. 
All  (Quebec  has  rung  with  nothing  else  for  a  fortnight,  and 
every  milliner  and  modiste  in  the  city  has  gone  almost 
insane  over  the  superlative  costumes  to  be  worn  there." 

"  And  it  is  to  be  the  most  select  in  its  character,"  chimed 
in  Madame  Couillard ;  "  all  gentry  and  noblesse,  not  one  of 
the  bourgeois  to  be  invited.  'I'hat  class,  especially  the 
female  portion  of  them,  give  themselves  such  airs  nowadays ! 
As  if  their  money  made  them  company  for  people  of  quality  ! 
They  must  be  kept  down,  I  say,  or  —  " 

"And  the  Royal  Intendant  quite  agrees  with  the  general 
sentiment  of  the  higher  circles,"  responded  Madame  de 
Orandmaison.     "  He  is  for  keeping  down —  " 

'*  Noblesse  !  Noblesse  !  "  The  Lady  de  Tilly  spoke  with 
visible  impatience.  "Who  is  this  Royal  Litendant  who 
dares  cast  a  slight  upon  the  worthy,  honest  bourgeoisie  of 
this  city  ?  Is  he  noble  himself  ?  Not  that  I  would  think 
worse  of  him  were  he  not,  but  I  have  heard  it  disputed. 
He  is  the  last  one  who  should   venture  to  scorn   the  bour- 


geoisie. 


Madame  de  Grandmaison  fanned  herself  in  a  very  stately 
manner.  "  Oh,  my  Lady,  you  surely  forget !  The  Chevalier 
Bigot  is  a  distant  relative  of  the  Count  de  Marville,  and 
the  Chevalier  de  Grandmaison  is  a  constant  visitor  at  the 
Intendant's !  lixit  he  would  not  have  sat  at  his  table  an 
hour  had  he  not  known  that  he  was  connected  with  the 
nobility.     The  Count  de  Marville  —  " 

"  The  Count  de  Marville  !  "  interrupted  the  Lady  de  Tilly, 
whose  politeness  almost  gave  way.  "  'I'ruly,  a  man  is  known 
hy  the  company  he  keeps.  No  credit  to  any  one  to  be  con- 
nected with  the  Count  de  Marville." 

Madame  de  Grandmaison  felt  rather  subdued.  She  per- 
ceived that  the  Lady  de  Tilly  was  not  favorably  impressed 
towards  the  Intendant.     But  she  tried  again :  "  And  then, 


I04 


TUF.    (lOI.nKX    DOG. 


my  Lady,  the  IiUondant  is  so  powerful  at  Court,  He  wa^ 
a  particular  friend  of  Madame  d'Ktioles  before  she  w.i- 
known  at  Court,  and  they  say  lie  managed  her  introduction 
t<;  the  King  at  the  famous  masked  ball  at  the  Hotel  del 
\'ille,  when  His  Majesty  threw  his  handkerchief  at  her,  anc 
she  became  first  ilanic  tin  pa/ais  and  the  Marquise  de  Pompa- 
dour. She  has  ever  remained  his  firm  friend,  and  in  ^\)Vx\ 
of  all  his  enemies  could  do  to  prevent  it  His  Majesty  made 
him  Intendant  of  New  I'rance.'' 

"  In  spite  of  all  the  King's  friends  could  do,  you  mean.' 
replied  the  Lady  de  Tilly,  in  a  tone  the  sound  of  which 
caught  the  ear  of  Amelie,  and  she  knew  her  aunt  was  losin- 
patience  with  her  visitors.  Lady  de  Tilly  heard  the  name 
of  the  ro)al  mistress  with  intense  disgust,  but  her  innak 
loyalty  prevented  her  speaking  disparagingly  of  the  Kin^, 
"  We  will  not  discuss  the  Court,"  said  she,  *'  nor  the  friuiid- 
ships  of  this  Intendant.  I  can  only  pray  his  future  luav 
make  amends  for  his  past.  I  trust  New  France  may  not 
have  as  much  reason  as  poor  lost  Acadia  to  lament  the  thn 
of  his  coming  to  the  Colonies." 

The  two  lady  visitors  were  not  obtuse.  They  saw  they 
had  roused  the  susceptibilities — prejudices,  they  called 
them  —  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly.  'I'hey  rose,  and  smotheiiiii; 
their  disappointment  under  well-bred  phrases,  took  mo^t 
polile  leave  of  the  dignified  old  lady,  who  was  heartily  glad 
to  be  rid  of  them. 

"The  disagreeable  old  thing  —  to  talk  so  of  the  Intend- 
ant 1  "  exclaimed  Madame  Couillard,  spitefully,  "  when  her 
own  nephew,  and  heir  in  the  Seigniory  of  Tilly,  is  the 
Intendant's  firmest  friend  and  closest  companion." 

"  Yes,  she  forgot  about  her  own  house ;  people  always 
forget  to  look  at  home  when  they  pass  judgment  upon  their 
neighbors,"  replied  Madame  de  (irandmaison.  "  l>ut  I  am 
mistaken  if  she  will  be  able  to  impress  Le  Gardeur  de  Re- 
pentigny  with  her  uncharitable  and  unfashionalile  opinions 
of  the  Intendant.  I  hope  the  ball  will  be  the  greatest  sociiil 
success  ever  seen  in  the  city,  just  to  vex  her  and  her  niice, 
who  is  as  proud  and  particular  as  she  is  herself." 

Amelie  de  Kepenligny  had  dressed  herself  to-day  in  a 
robe  of  soft  muslin  of  Deccan,  the  gift  of  a  relative  in  I'on- 
dicherry.      It  enveloped  her  exquisite  form,  without  conceal- 


LMi-l  in  the  gar 


AMELIE    I)K    REPEXTIGXY. 


105 


inu  thf  grace  and  lissomeness  of  her  movements.  A  broad 
blue  ribbon  round  her  waist,  and  in  her  dark  hair  a  blue 
tluwcr.  were  all  her  adornments,  except  a  chain  and  cross  of 
•■^old.  which  lay  upon  hei  bosom,  the  rich  gift  of  her  brother, 
and  often  kissed  with  a  silent  prayer  for  iiis  welfare  and  hap- 
pii.os.  More  than  once,  under  the  influence  of  some  inde- 
liiKible  impulse,  she  rose  and  went  to  the  mirror,  comparing 
her  Icatures  now  with  a  portrait  of  herself  taken  as  i  young 
t,Mrl  in  the  garb  of  a  shepherdess  of  Provence.  Her  father 
u>L'il  to  like  that  picture  of  her,  and  to  please  him  she  often 
wore  her  hair  in  the  fashion  of  I'rovence.  She  did  so  to-day. 
Why  ?  The  subtile  thought  in  many  Protean  shapes  played 
before  her  fancy,  but  she  would  not  try  to  catch  it  —  no ! 
rather  shyly  avoided  its  examination. 

She  was  quite  restless,  and  sat  down  again  in  the  deep 
recess  of  the  window,  watching  the  Place  d'Armes  for  the 
appearance  of  her  brother. 

She  gave  a  sudden  start  at  last,  as  a  couple  of  officers 
<ialloped  in  to  the  square  and  rode  towards  the  great  gate  of 
the  Chateau;  one  of  them  she  instantly  recognized  as  her 
brother,  the  other,  a  tall  martial  tigure  in  full  uniform,  upon 
a  fiery  gray,  she  did  not  recognize,  but  she  knew  in  her 
heart  it  could  be  no  other  than  Colonel  Philibert, 

Amelie  felt  a  thrill,  almost  painful  in  its  pleasure,  agitating 
her  bosom,  as  she  sat  watching  the  gateway  they  had 
entered.  It  was  even  a  momentary  relief  to  her  that  *^*'""V 
had  turned  in  there  instead  of  riding  directly  to  the  he 
li  jjave  her  time  to  collect  her  thoughts  and  summon  all  her 
toitiiude  for  the  coming  interview.  Her  fingers  wandered 
down  to  the  rosary  in  the  folds  of  her  dress,  and  the  golden 
bead,  which  had  so  often  prompted  her  prayer  for  the  hap- 
piness of  Pierre  Philibert,  seemed  to  burn  to  the  touch. 
Her  cheek  crimsoned,  for  a  strange  thought  suddenly  in- 
truded -  -the  boy  Pierre  Philibert,  whose  image  and  memory 
she  had  so  long  and  innocently  cheri>,hed,  was  now  a  man, 
;i  soldier,  a  councillor,  trained  in  courts  and  camps!  How 
unnuiidenly  she  had  acted,  forgetting  all  this  in  her  childish 
l)rayers  until  this  moment !  "  I  mean  no  harm,"  was  all  the 
deience  she  could  think  of.  Nor  had  she  time  to  think 
more  of  herself,  for,  after  remaining  ten  minutes  in  the 
Chateau,  just  long  enough  to  see  the  Governor  and  deliver 


ic6 


TH?:    GOLDEN    HOG. 


the  answer  of  the  Intendant  to  his  message,  the  ^^rav 
charge*"  emerged  from  the  gate.  His  rider  was  accompanied 
by  her  brother  and  the  well-known  figure  of  her  godfather, 
La  Come  St.  Luc,  who  rode  up  the  hill  and  in  a  minute  or 
two  dismounted  at  the  door  of  the  mansion  of  the  Ladv  de 
Tilly. 

The  fabled  lynx,  whose  eye  penetrates  the  very  earth  to 
discover  hidden  treasure,  did  not  cast  a  keener  and  more 
inquisitive  glance  than  that  which  Amelie,  shrouded  beliind 
the  thick  curtains,  directed  from  the  window  at  the  tall. 
manly  figure  and  handsome  countenance  of  him  whom  she 
knew  to  be  Pierre  Philibert.  Let  it  not  detract  from  her 
that  she  gave  way  to  an  irresistible  impulse  of  womanly 
curiosity.  The  Queen  of  France  would,  under  the  same 
temptation,  have  done  the  same  thing,  and  perhaps  without 
feeling  half  the  modest  shame  of  it  that  Amelie  did.  A 
glance  sufficed  —  but  a  glance  that  impressed  upon  her 
mind  forever  the  ineffaceable  and  perfect  image  of  Pierre 
Philibert  the  man,  who  came  in  place  of  Pierre  Philibert 
the  boy  friend  of  Le  Gardeur  and  vl  licrse!^. 


CHAPTER    XI. 


THE    SOLDIKRS    WELCOME. 


THK  voices  of  the  <2;entlemen  mingled  with  her  aunt's 
in  eager  greetings.  She  well  knew  which  must  be  the 
voice  of  Colonel  Fhilibert  the  rest  were  all  so  familiar  to 
her  ear.  Suddenly  footsteps  ran  up  the  grand  stair,  clearing 
three  at  a  time.  She  waited,  trembling  with  anticipation. 
Le  (lardeur  rushed  into  the  room  with  outstretched  arms, 
embraced  her,  and  kissed  her  in  a  transport  of  brotherly 
attection. 

"Oh,  Le  Gardeur!"  cried  she,  returning  his  kiss  with 
fond  affection,  and  looking  in  his  face  with  tenderness  and 
joy.  "()  my  brother,  how  I  have  prayed  and  longed  for 
your  coming.  Thank  God  !  you  are  here  at  last.  You  are 
well,  brother,  are  you  not  ? "  said  she,  looking  up  with  a 
^'hince  that  seemed  to  betray  some  an.xiety. 

"Never  better,  Amelie,"  replied  he,  in  a  gayer  tone  than 
was  quite  natural  to  him,  and  shyly  averting  his  eyes  from 
her  tender  scrutiny.  "  Never  better.  Why,  if  1  had  been 
in  my  grave,  1  should  have  risen  up  to  welcome  a  friend 
whom  I  have  met  to-day  after  years  of  separation.  Oh, 
Amelie,  1  have  such  news  for  you ! " 

"  News  for  me,  Le  Gardeur  !  What  can  it  be  ?  "  A  blush 
stole  over  her  countenance,  and  her  bosom  heaved,  for  she 
was  very  conscious  of  the  nature  of  the  news  her  brother 
was  about  to  impart. 

"Guess!  you  unsuspecting  queen  of  she])herdesses,"  cried 
he.  archly  twisting  a  lock  of  her  hair  that  hung  over  her 
shoulder.     "Guess,  you  pretty  gipsy,  you  !" 

"Guess?  How  can  I  guess,  Le  Gardeur?  Can  there 
be  any  news  left  in  the  city  of  Quebec  after  an  hour's  visit 
from  Madame  de  Grandmaison  and  Madame  Couillard  ?  I 
did  not  go  down,  but  I  know  they  inquired  much  after  you, 
by  the  way  I  "     Amelie,  with  a  little  touch  of  feminine  per- 

107 


io8 


THli    (iOLDEN    DOG. 


versity,  shyly  put  off  the  grand  burst  of  Le  Gardeur's  intelli- 
gence, knowing  it  was  sure  to  come. 

"  I'shaw  !  who  cares  for  those  old  scandal-mongers  !  V,\\\ 
you  can  never  guess  my  news,  Amelie,  so  I  may  as  well  tell 
you." .  Le  Gardeur  fairly  swelled  with  the  announcement  he 
was  about  to  make. 

*'  Have  mercy  then,  brother,  and  tell  me  at  once,  for  you 
do  now  set  my  curiosity  on  tiptoe."  She  was  a  true  woman, 
and  would  not  for  anything  have  admitted  her  knowledge  oi 
the  presence  of  Colonel  I'hilibert  in  the  iiouse. 

'*  Amelie,"  said  he,  taking  her  by  both  hands,  as  if  to 
prevent  her  escajje,  "I  was  at  JJeaumanoir  —  you  know 
the  Intendant  gave  a  grand  hunting  party,"  added  he, 
noticing  the  quick  glance  she  gave  him  ;  "  and  w  ho  do  you 
think  came  to  the  Chateau  and  recognized  me,  or  rather  1 
recognized  him?  A  stranger  —  and  not  such  a  stranger, 
either,  Amelie." 

"  Nay ;  go  on,  brother !  Who  could  this  mysterious 
stranger  and  no  stranger  have  been  ?  " 

"  Pierre  Philibert,  Amelie  !  Pierre  —  our  Pierre,  you 
know !     You  recollect  him,  sister  !  " 

"  Recollect  Pierre  Philibert  ?  Why,  how  could  I  ever  for- 
get him  while  you  are  living  .-'  since  to  him  we  are  all  indebted 
for  your  life,  brother  !  " 

"  I  know  that;  are  you  not  glad,  as  I  am,  at  his  return  ?" 
asked  Le  (iardeur,  with  a  penetrating  look. 

She  threw  her  arms  round  him  inxoluntnrily.  for  she  was 
much  agitated.  "  Glad,  brother  ?  Yes,  I  am  glad  because 
you  are  glad." 

*'  No  more  than  that,  Amelie  ?  That  is  a  small  thing  to 
be  glad  for." 

"  Oh,  brother  1  I  am  glad  for  gladness's  sake  !  We  can 
never  overpay  the  debt  of  gratitude  we  owe  Pierre  Philibert." 

"  O  my  sweet  sister,"  replied  he,  kissing  her,  "  1  knew  my 
news  would  please  you.  Come,  we  will  go  down  and  see 
him  at  once,  for  Pierre  is  in  the  house." 

"  But,  Le  Gardeur  1 "  She  blushed  and  hesitated.  "  Pierre 
Philibert  1  knew  —  I  could  speak  to  him  ;  but  I  shall  hardly 
dare  recognize  him  in  the  stately  soldier  of  to-day.  Fo/Ai  la 
difference  !  "  added  she,  repeating  the  refrain  of  a  song  very 
popular  both  in  New^  France  and  in  Old  at  that  period. 


same  generous, 


TMK    SOLDIKKS    WKI.COMK. 


109 


Le  Oardeur  did  not  comprehend  her  hesitation  and  tone. 
Said  he,  —"  Pierre  is  wonderfully  chanjijed  since  he  and  I 
wore  the  green  sasii  of  the  seminary.  He  is  taller  than  I. 
wiser  and  better,  -  he  was  always  that,  —  but  in  heart  the 
same  ^^enerous,  noble  I'ierre  I'hilibert  he  was  when  a  boy. 
/('//(/  hi  rcssi'mhliVice !''  added  he,  pullinj:^  her  hair  archly  as 
he  repeated  the  anlistrophe  of  the  same  ditty. 

Amelie  gave  her  brother  a  fond  look,  but  she  did  not 
rej^lv.  except  by  a  tight  pressure  of  the  hand.  The  voices 
of  the  Chevalier  ].a  Corne  and  the  Kady  de  Tilly  and 
Colonel  I'hiliberl  were  again  heard  in  animated  conversa- 
tion. "Come,  brother,  we  will  go  now,"  said  she;  and 
(]uick  ill  executing  any  resolution  she  had  formed,  she  took 
the  arm  of  her  brother,  swept  with  him  down  the  inroad  stair, 
and  entered  the  drawing-room. 

I'liilihert  rose  to  his  feet  in  admiration  of  the  vision  of 
loveliness  that  suddenly  beamed  upon  his  eyes.  It  was  the 
incarnation  of  all  the  shapes  of  grace  and  beauty  that  had 
passed  through  his  fervid  fancy  during  so  many  years  of 
absence  from  his  native  land.  Something  there  was  of 
the  features  of  the  young  girl  who  had  ridden  with  flying 
lock>,  like  a  sprite,  through  the  woods  of  Tilly.  Ikit  com- 
paring his  recollection  of  that  slight  girl  with  the  tall,  lithe, 
perfect  womanhood  of  the  half-blushing  girl  before  him,  he 
hesitated,  although  intuitively  aware  that  it  could  be  no  other 
than  the  idol  of  his  heart,  Amt'lie  de  Repentigny. 

Le  (jardeur  solved  the  doubt  in  a  moment  by  exclaiming, 
in  a  tone  of  exultation,  "  Pierre  Philibert,  I  bring  an  old 
young  friend  to  greet  you —  my  sister  !  " 

Philibert  advanced,  and  Amelie  raised  her  dark  eyes  with 
a  momentary  glance  that  dre./  into  her  heart  the  memory  of 
his  face  forever.  She  held  out  her  hand  franklv  and  courte- 
ously.  Philibert  bent  over  it  as  reverently  as  he  would  over 
the  hand  of  the  Madonna. 

The  greeting  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly  and  La  Corne  St.  Taic 
had  been  cordial,  nay,  affectionate  in  its  kindness.  The 
jiood  lady  kissed  Pierre  as  a  mother  might  have  done  a  long- 
absent  son. 

"Colonel  Philibert,"  said  Amt'lie,  straining  her  nerves  to 
the  tension  of  steel  to  preserve  her  composure,  "  Colonel 
Philibert  is  most  welcome ;  he  has  never  been  forgotten  in 


no 


THE    (iOLDEN    DOG. 


this  house."       She  glanced  at  her  aunt,  who  smiled  approv- 
ingly at  Amelie's  remark. 

"Thanks,  Mademoiselle  de  Repentigny ;  I  am  indeed 
happy  to  be  remembered  here ;  it  fulfils  one  of  my  most 
cherished  hopes  in  returning  to  my  native  land." 

"Ay,  ay,  Pierre,"  interrupted  La  C'orne  St.  Luc,  who 
looked  on  this  little  scene  very  admiringly,  "good  blood 
never  lies.  Look  at  Colonel  Philibert  there,  with  the  Kin^\ 
epaulets  on  his  shoulders.  '  have  a  sharp  eye,  as  you  know, 
AmeUe,  when  I  look  after  my  pretty  goddaughter,  but  1 
should  not  have  recognized  our  lively  Pierre  in  him,  had 
Le  (iardeur  not  introduced  him  to  me,  and  1  think  you 
would  not  have  known  him  either." 

"Thanks  for  your  looking  after  me,  godfather,"  rejiliwl 
Amelie,  merrily,  very  grateful  in  her  heart  for  his  apprecia- 
tion of  Pierre,  "  but  I  think  neither  aunt  nor  1  should  have 
failed  to  recognize  him." 

"Right,  my  Amelie!"  said  the  Lady  de  Tilly.  "  Wi- 
should  not,  and  we  shall  not  be  afraid,  Pierre,  —  I  iiiusl 
call  you  Pierre  or  nothing,  —  we  shall  not  be  afraid,  al- 
though you  do  lay  in  a  new  stock  of  acquaintances  in  the 
capital,  that  old  friends  will  be  put  aside  as  unfashionable 
remnants." 

"  My  whole  stock  of  friendship  consiots  of  those  remnants, 
my  Lady,  —  memories  of  dear  friends  I  love  and  honor.  They 
will  never  be  unfashionable  with  me  :  I  shoukl  be  bankrupt 
indeed,  were  I  to  part  with  one  of  them." 

"  Then  they  are  of  a  truer  fabric  than  Penelope's  web.  for 
she,  I  read,  pulled  in  pieces  at  night  what  she  had  woven 
through  the  day,"  replied  Lady  de  Tilly.  "  Ciive  me  the 
friendship  that  won't  unravel." 

"  Put  not  a  thread  of  my  recollections  has  ever  unravelled, 
or  ever  will,"  replied  Pierre,  looking  at  Amelie  as  she  clasped 
the  arm  of  her  aunt,  feeling  stronger,  as  is  woman's  way,  by 
the  contact  with  another. 

"Zounds!  What  is  all  this  merchant's  talk  about  wobs 
and  threads  and  thrums  ?  "  exclaimed  La  Corne.  "There  is 
no  memory  so  good  as  a  soldier's,  Amelie,  and  for  good 
reason  :  a  soldier  on  our  wild  frontiers  is  compelled  to  be 
faithful  to  old  friends  and  old  flannels;  he  cannot  help  bim 
self  to  new  ones  if  he  would.     1  was  five  years  and  never 


THE    SOLDIER  S    WELCOME. 


I  I  I 


K I  ng  > 


<>■()(  )(1 


saw  a  woman's  face  except  red  ones-  some  of  them  were 
verv  comely,  by  the  way,"  added  the  old  warrior  with  a  smile. 

"The  gallantry  of  the  Chevalier  La  Come  is  incon- 
testable," remarked  Pierre,  ''for  once,  when  we  captured  a 
convoy  of  soldiers'  wives  from  New  England,  he  escorted 
them,  with  drums  beating,  to  (Irand  Pre,  and  sent  a  cask  of 
Gas(,on  wine  for  them  to  celebrate  their  reunion  with  their 
husbands." 

"  I'rowzy  huzzies !  not  worth  the  keeping,  or  I  would  not 
have  sent  them  ;  fit  only  for  the  bobtailed  militia  of  New 
Knsland  !  "  exclaimed  La  Corne. 

"  Not  so  thought  the  New  Knglanders,  who  had  a  three 
days  feast  when  they  remarried  their  wives— and  handsome 
they  were,  too,"  said  Philibert  ;  "  the  healths  they  drank  to 
the  ("hevalier  were  enough  to  make  him  immortal." 

La  Corne  always  brushed  aside  compliments  to  himself : 
"Tut,  my  Lady  !  it  was  more  Pierre's  good-nature  than  mine 
-  he  out  of  kindness  let  the  women  rejoin  their  husbands; 
on  my  part  it  was  policy  and  stratagem  of  war.  Hear  the 
set|uel !  The  wives  spoiled  the  husbands,  as  I  guessed  they 
would  do,  taught  them  to  be  too  late  at  reveille,  too  early  at 
tattoo.  They  neglected  guards  and  pickets,  and  when  the 
long  nights  of  winter  set  in,  the  men  hugged  their  wives  by 
the  firesides  instead  of  their  muskets  by  their  watch-fires. 
Then  came  destruction  upon  them  !  In  a  blinding  storm, 
amid  snow-drifts  and  darkness,  Coulon  de  Villiers,  with  his 
troops  on  snow-shoes,  marched  into  the  New  England  camp, 
and  made  widows  of  the  most  of  the  poor  wives,  who  fell 
into  our  hands  the  second  time.  Poor  creatures  !  I  saw 
that  (lay  how  hard  it  was  to  be  a  soldier's  wife."  La  Corne's 
shagi,^y  eyelash  twinkled  with  moisture.  "  Ikit  it  was  the  for- 
tune of  war !  the  fortune  of  war,  and  a  cruel  fortune  it  is  at 
the  best  !  " 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  pressed  her  hand  to  her  bosom  to 
suppicss  the  rising  emotion.  "Alas,  Chevalier!  poor 
widows  !  I  feel  all  they  sulTered.  War  is  indeed  a  cruel 
fortune,  as  1  too  have  had  reason  to  learn." 

"And  what  became  of  the  poor  women,  godfather?" 
Amelie's  eyes  were  suffused  with  tears :  it  was  in  her  heart, 
if  ever  in  any  mortal's,  to  love  her  enemies. 

"Oh,  we  cared  for  them  the  best  we  could.     The   Baron 


I  12 


THE    fiOLDKN    DOG. 


de  St.  Castin  sheltered  them  in  his  chateau  for  the  wiri.,, 
and  his  daughter  devoted  herself  to  them  with  the  zeal  ana 
tenderness  of  a  saint  from  Heaven  —  a  noble,  lovely  j,ni!, 
Amelie  !  "  added  La  Corne,  impressively ;  "  the  fairest  Howcr 
in  all  Acadia,  and  most  unfortunate,  poor  girl !  God's  l)les- 
ing  rest  upon  her,  wherever  she  may  be!"  La  Corne  Si 
Luc  spoke  with  a  depth  of  emotion  he  rarely  manifested. 

"How  was  she  unfortunate,  godfather?"  IMiiiibcn 
watched  the  cheek  Hush  and  the  eyelid  (juiver  of  the  fair 
girl  as  she  spoke,  carried  away  by  her  sympathy.  His  heart 
went  with  his  looks. 

"Alas  !  "  replied  La  Corne,  "  I  would  fain  not  answer,  1cm 
I  distrust  the  moral  government  of  the  universe.  Ikit  we  art 
blind  creatures,  and  (jod's  ways  are  not  fashioned  in  oar 
ways.  Let  no  one  boast  that  he  stands,  lest  he  fall !  Wu 
need  the  help  of  the  host  of  Heaven  to  keep  us  upright  and 
maintain  our  integrity.  I  can  scarcely  think  of  that  nolilc 
girl  without  tears.     Oh,  the  pity  of  it !      The  pity  of  it  I " 

Lady  de  Tilly  looked  at  him  wonderingly.  "  I  knew  the 
liaron  de  St.  Castin,"  said  she.  "When  he  came  to  perform 
homage  at  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  for  the  grant  of  some 
lands  in  Acadia,  he  was  accompanied  by  his  only  daughter. 
a  child  perfect  in  goodness,  grace,  and  loveliness.  She  was 
just  the  age  of  Amelie.  The  ladies  of  the  city  were  in  rap- 
tures over  the  pretty  ALiyllower,  as  they  called  her.  What, 
in  heaven's  name,  has  happened  to  that  dear  child,  Chevalier 
La  Corne  ?  " 

La  Corne  St.  Luc,  half  angry  with  himself  for  bavins; 
broached  the  painful  topic,  and  not  used  to  pick  his  words, 
replied  bluntly,  —  "  Happened,  my  Lady!  what  is  it  happens 
worst  to  a  woman  ?  She  k)ved  a  man  unworthy  of  her  love 
—  a  villain  in  spite  of  high  rank  and  King's  favor,  wlm 
deceived  this  foiitl,  confiding  girl,  and  abandoned  her  to 
shame!  I''augh  !  It  is  the  way  of  the  Court,  they  say;  ami 
the  King  has  not  withdrawn  his  favor,  Init  heaped  new  honob 
upon  him!"  La  Corne  put  a  severe  curb  upon  his  utter- 
ance and  turned  impatiently  away,  lest  he  might  curse  the 
King  as  well  as  the  favorite. 

"  \k\l  what  became  of  the  poor  deceived  girl  ?  "  asked 
the  Lady  de  Tilly,  after  hastily  clearing  her  eyes  with  iicr 
handkerchief. 


THE    SOLIMKR  S    WELCOME. 


H3 


"Oil.  the  old,  old  story  followed.  She  ran  away  from 
home  in  an  agony  of  shame  and  fear,  to  avoid  the  return  of 
her  father  from  France.  She  went  among  the  Indians  of  the 
St.  Cioix,  they  say,  and  has  not  been  heard  of  since.  Poor, 
deiir  girl  !  her  \ery  trust  in  virtue  was  the  cause  of  her 
fall  !  ■' 

AiiK'lie  turned  alternately  pale  and  red  at  the  recital  of  her 
godfather.  She  riveted  her  eyes  upon  the  ground  as  she 
pressed  close  to  her  aunt,  clasping  her  arm,  as  if  seeking 
^lrL:^glh  and  support. 

Lady  de  Tilly  was  greatly  shocked  at  the  sad  recital.  She 
inquired  the  name  of  the  man  of  lank  who  had  acted  so 
treacherously  to  the  hapless  girl. 

"  1  will  not  utter  the  name  to-day,  my  Lady!  It  has  been 
revealed  to  me  as  a  great  secret.  It  is  a  tuime  too  higli  for 
the  stroke  of  the  law,  if  there  be  any  law  left  us  but  the  will 
of  a  King's  mistress  !  God,  however,  has  left  us  the  law  of 
a  uentleman's  sword  to  avenge  its  master's  wrong.  The 
Ikiron  de  St.  Castin  will  soon  retin^n  to  vindicate  his  own 
lionoi-.  and  whether  or  no,  I  vow  to  hea\en,  my  Lady,  that  the 
traitor  who  has  wronged  that  sweet  girl  will  one  day  have  to 
try  whether  his  sword  be  shar])er  than  that  of  La  (!orne  St. 
laid  Ikit  pshaw  !  I  am  talking  braxado  like  an  Indian  at 
the  war  post.  The  story  of  tho.se  luckless  New  Kngland 
\vi\-es  has  carried  us  beyond  all  bounds." 

Lady  be  Tdly  looked  admiringly,  without  a  sign  of  reproof, 
at  the  old  soldier,  symiiathir-'-ing  with  his  honest  indignation 
at  so  foul  a  wrong  to  her  sex.  "  Were  that  dear  child  mine, 
wciman  as  I  am,  I  woidd  do  the  same  thing!"  said  she.  with 
a  hurst  of  feeling.  Slu;  felt  Amelie  press  her  arm  as  if  she 
too  shared  the  spirit  of  lier  bolder  aiuU. 

"  Hut  here  comes  l-V-lix  Daudoin  to  summon  us  to  dinner  !  " 
exclaiiiu'd  Lady  de  Tilly,  as  an  old,  white-headed  servitor  in 
liwr\-  appeared  at  the  door  with  a  low  bow,  announcing  that 
dinner  was  served. 

If  (lardeur  and  La  ( "orne  St.  Luc  greeted  the  old  servi- 
tor with  the  utmost  kindness,  incpiired  after  his  ht;allh.  and 
lu'ij^ed  a  pinch  from  his  well-worn  snuff-bov.  Such  familiar- 
ities were  not  rare  in  that  day  between  the  g<'ntlemen  of  N'ew 
I'ranee  and  their  old  ser\'ants,  who  usually  passed  their 
lifetime    in   one   household.       VvVw   was   the    nuijordomo  of 


114 


TIIK    GOLDEN     I)()(i 


the  Manor  FTouse  of  Tilly,  trusty,  punctilious,  and  polic, 
and  honored  by  his  mistress  more  as  an  humble  friend  than 
as  a  servant  of  her  house. 

"Dinner  is  served,  my  Lady!"  repeated  Felix,  with  a 
bow.  "  Pjut  my  Lady  must  excuse  !  'I'he  kitchen  has  been 
full  of  habitans  all  day.  The  'i'rifourchettes,  the  Double- 
dents,  and  all  the  best  eaters  in  'I'illv  have  been  here.  After 
obeying  my  Lady's  commands  to  give  them  all  they  could 
eat  we  have  had  difficulty  in  saving  anything  for  my  Lady's 
own  table." 

"  No  matter,  Felix,  we  shall  say  grace  all  the  same.  I 
could  content  myself  with  bread  and  water,  to  give  fish  and 
Hesh  to  my  irnsifni/rs,  who  are  working  so  willingly  on  tlu 
King's  corvee !  l)Ut  that  must  be  my  apology  to  you,  IMirrt.' 
Philibert  and  the  Chevalier  La  Corne,  for  a  poorer  dinner 
than  I  could  wish." 

"Oh,  I  feel  no  misgivings,  my  Lady  !  "  remarked  La  Conie 
St.  Luc,  laughing.  "  I^'elix  Ikiudoin  is  too  faithful  a  serxitor 
to  starve  his  mistress  for  the  sake  of  the  Trifourchettes,  the 
Doubledents,  and  all  the  best  eaters  in  the  Seigniory!  N'o! 
no!  I  will  be  bound  your  Ladyship  will  find  Felix  has  tolled 
and  tithed  from  them  enough  to  secure  a  dinner  for  us  all 
come,  Amelie,  with  me." 

Lady  de  Tilly  took  the  arm  of  Colonel  Philibert,  followed 
by  Le  Gardeur,  La  Corne,  and  Amelie,  and,  marshalled  by 
the  majordomo,  proceeded  to  the  dining-room — a  large 
room,  wainscotted  with  black  walnut,  a  fine  wood  lately 
introduced.  The  ceiling  was  coved,  and  surrounded  by  a 
rich  frieze  of  carving.  A  large  table,  suggestive  of  hospital- 
ity, was  covered  with  drapery  of  the  snowiest  linen,  the 
product  of  the  spinning-wheels  and  busy  looms  of  the  women 
of  the  Seigniory  of  Tilly,  Vases  of  china,  filled  with  freshly 
gathered  Howers,  shed  sweet  perfumes,  while  they  delighted 
Ihe  eye  with  their  beauty,  ethcrializing  the  elements  of  bread 
and  meat  by  suggestions  of  the  poetry  and  ideals  of  life.  A 
grand  old  buffet,  a  prodigy  of  cabinet-maker's  art,  displaced 
a  mass  of  family  plate,  and  a  siher  shield  embossed  with 
the  arms  of  Tillv.  a  gift  of  Henrv  of  Navarre  to  their  am  imi 
and  loyal  house,  hung  upon  the  wall  over  the  bullet. 

In  spite  of  the  Trifourchettes  and  the  Doubledents,  I'edix 
Jiaudoin  had  managed  to  set  an  excellent  dinner  upon  the 


TJIK    SOLDIKKS    WELCOME. 


115 


tal)Ic  I'f  his  lady,  who  looked  archly  at  the  Chevalier  La 
("orne,  as  if  assenting  to  his  remark  on  her  old  servitor. 

The  lady  remained  standing  at  the  head  of  her  table  until 
tliev  all  sat  down,  when,  elasping  her  hands,  she  recited  with 
feeling  and  clearness  the  old  Latin  grace,  "  lii-iird'ir,  Domiiii\ 
no<  ./  luce  tita  (Zona,'"  sanctifying  her  table  by  the  invoca- 
tion of  the  blessing  of  (lod  upon  it  and  upon  all  who  sat 
round  it. 

A  soup,  rich  and  savory,  was  the  prelude  at  all  dinners  in 
Xow  I'"rance.  A  salmon  speared  in  the  shallows  of  the  ( "hau- 
tliero,  aiiil  a  dish  of  blood-sj)eckled  tiout  from  the  mountain 
hireains  of  St.  Joachim,  smc^ked  upon  the  board.     Little  oval 


loaves  of  wheaten  bread  were  piled  up  in  baskets  of  silver 
iiliL;ree.  I'or  in  those  da}s  the  fields  of  New  I'Yance  pro- 
duced cro]")s  of  the  finest  wheat  a  gift  which  Prcnidence  has 
since  withheld.  "'I'he  wheat  went  away  with  the  Hourbon  lilies, 
and  never  grew  afterwards,"  said  the  old  habitans.  The 
meal  in  the  larder  had  all  really  been  given  to  the  hungry 
iiisitiUirs  in  the  kitchen,  except  a  capon  from  the  /urssr  coiir 
of  Tilly  and  a  standing  pie,  the  contents  of  which  canie  from 
'lie  manorial  dovecote.  A  reef  of  raspberries,  red  as  corals, 
uaihercd  on  the  tangleo  slopes  of  ( "ote  a  lionhonniie,  formed 
ilie  dessert,  with  blue  whortleberries  from  (\ape  'I'ourment, 
phinis  sweet  as  honey  drops,  antl  small,  gray-coated  ap|)les 
fn)ni  IJeaupre,  delicious  as  tho^e  that  comforted  the  Rose  of 
Sharon.  A  few  carafes  cif  choice  wine  from  the  old  numorial 
cellar,  completed  the  entertainment. 

The  meal  was  not  a  protracted  one,  but  to  IMerre  Lhilibert 
liie  uuisl  blissful  hour  of  his  life.  He  sat  by  the  side  of 
Amelie,  enjoying  e\ery  moment  as  if  it  were  a  ])earl  dropped 
inio  his  bosom  by  word,  look,  or  gesture  of  the  radiant  girl 
who  sat  beside  him. 

He  found  Amc'lie,  although  somewhat  timid  at  first  to 
converse,  a  willing,  nay,  an  eager  listener.  She  was  attracted 
Ity  the  magnetism  of  a  nolde,  sympathetic  nature,  and  by 
dci^iees  ventured  to  cast  a  glance  at  the  handsome,  manl\' 
countenance  where  feature  after  feature  revealed  itself,  likt: 
;i  landscape  at  dawn  of  day,  and  in  (  'olonel  I'hilibert  she 
fcco^iii/ed  the  very  looks,  speech,  and  manner  of  Tierrc 
niilil)ert  of   okl. 

Her  (juestioning  eyes  hardly  needed  the  interpretation  of 


ii6 


THE  r.oi.Dr.x   Dnn. 


her  ton<2;ue  to  draw  him  out  to  impart  the  story  of  his  life 
durin!:;  his  long  absence  from  New  P'rance,  and  it  was  with 
secret  delight  she  found  in  him  a  powerful,  cultivated  intel- 
lect and  nobility  of  sentiment  such  as  she  rightly  supposed 
belonged  only  to  a  great  man,  while  his  visible  pleasure  at 
meeting  her  again  filled  her  with  a  secret  joy  that,  unnotiad 
by  herself,  suffused  her  whole  countenance  with  radiance, 
and  incited  her  to  converse  with  him  more  freely  than  slu- 
had  thought  it  possible  when  she  sat  down  at  table. 

"  It  is  long  since  we  all  sat  together,  Mademoiselle,  al  the 
table  of  your  noble  aunt,''  reuuirked  I'liilibert.  "  It  fulfills  an 
often  and  often  repeated  day-dream  of  mine,  that  I  should 
one  dav  lind  \ou  iust  the  same." 

"And  do  you  find  me  just  the  same?"  answered  slk, 
archly.  "  Vou  take  down  the  pride  of  ladyhood  immensi  Iv. 
Colonel  !  I  had  imagined  1  was  something  (juite  other  lli.iii 
the  wild  child  of  Tilly  !  " 

"  I  hardly  like  to  consider  you  as  in  the  pride  of  ladyhodd, 
Mademoiselle,  for  fear  1  should  Ic^sc  the  wild  child  of  Tillv, 
whom  I  should  be  so  glad  to  find  again." 

"And  whom  you  do  find  just  the  same  in  heart,  mind,  .iiid 
regard  too  !  "  thought  she  to  herself,  but  her  words  were. 
"  My  school  mistresses  would  be  ashamed  of  their  work 
Colonel,  if  they  had  not  improved  on  the  \ery  rude  matrriai 
my  aunt  sent  them  up  from  Tilly  to  manufacture  into  a  tine 
lady  !  I  was  the  crowned  queen  of  the  year  when  I  left  the 
LIrsulines,  so  beware  of  considering  me  'the  child  of  Tilly 
any  longer." 

Her  silvery  laugh  caught  his  heart,  for  in  that  he  recti;' 
nized  vividly  the  gay  young  girl  whose  image  he  was  even 
instant  develojDing  out  of  the  tall,  loveK'  won^ian  beside  him. 

I>a  Cx)rne  St.  Luc  and  the  Lady  de  Tilly  found  a  thousand 
delights  in  nuitual  reminiscences  of  the  past.  Le  (lardcii'. 
somewhat  heavy,  joined  in  conversation  with  IMiilibert  and 
his  sister.  Amelie  guessed,  and  Philibert  knew,  the  si'cre: 
of  I^e  (iardeur's  dulness ;  both  strove  to  enliven  and  aiouM 
him.  Mis  aunt  guessed  too,  that  he  had  passed  the  niuli: 
as  the  guests  of  the  fntendant  always  passed  it,  and  knowin, 
his  temper  and  the  regard  he  had  for  her  good  opinion,  she 
brought  the  subject  of  the  Intendant  into  conversation,  in 
order,  casually  as  it  were,  to  impress  Le  Gardeur  with  hei 


THE    SOLDIER  S    WELCOME. 


117 


opinion  of  him.    "Pierre  Philibert  too,"  thought  she,  "shall 
be  pui  upon  his  guard  against  the  crafty  JJigot." 

"  I'ierre,"  said  she,  "  you  are  happy  in  a  father  who  is 
;i  brave,  honorable  man,  of  whom  any  son  in  the  world 
inii:;bt  be  i)roucl.  The  country  holds  by  him  immensely,  and 
ho  deserves  their  regard.  Watch  over  him  now  you  are  at 
home,  Pierre.  He  has  some  relentless  and  powerful  ene- 
mies, who  would  injure  him  if  they  could." 

'•That  has  he,"  remarked  La  Corne  St.  Luc;  "I  have 
spoken  to  the  Sieur  Philibert  and  cautioned  him,  but  he 
is  not  impressible  on  the  subject  of  his  own  safety.  'I'he 
Intendant  spoke  savagely  of  him  in  public  the  other  day." 

"Did  he,  Chewilier?"  replied  Philibert,  his  eyes  Hashing 
witli  another  lire  than  that  which  had  tilled  them  looking  at 
.\melie.  "  He  shall  account  to  me  for  his  words,  were  he 
Rei^ent  instead  of  Litendant  I  " 

La  Corne  St.  Luc  looked  half  approvingly  at  Philibert. 

"Don't  quarrel  with  him  yet,  Pierre!  Vou  cannot  make 
a  quarrel  of  what  he  has  said." 

Lady  de  Tilly  listened  uneasily,  and  said, — 

'•Don't  ([uarrel  with  him  at  all,  Pierre  Philibert!  Judge 
him  and  axoid  him,  as  a  Christian  man  should  do.  (lod  will 
deal  wiib  Higot  as  he  deserves:  the  crafty  man  will  be  caught 
ill  his  own  devices  some  day." 

•'Ob.  bigot  is  a  gentleman,  aunt,  too  polite  to  insult  any 
(iiie."  remarked  Le  (lardeur,  iiuj^atient  to  defend  one  whom 
he  regarded  as  a  friend.  "  He  is  the  prince  of  good  fellows, 
and  not  crafty,  I  think,  but  all  surface  and  sunshine." 

■'  \(iu  ne\er  explored  the  depths  of  him,  Le  Clardeiu"," 
leniarked  La  Corne.  "  I  grant  he  is  a  gay,  jesting,  drinking, 
and  gand)ling  fellow  in  company;  but,  trust  me,  he  is  deej) 
and  tlark  as  the  Devil's  cave  that  1  have  seen  in  the  Ottawa 
omntry.  It  goes  story  under  stor),  deeper  and  deeper,  until 
ihe  imagination  loses  itself  in  contem])latiiig  the  bottoiuless 
pit  of  it  -  that  is  Pigot,  Le  (lartleur." 

"My  rr//s//(r//\-s  report  to  me,"  renuirked  the  Lady  de 
lill}'.  "that  his  conunissaries  are  seizing  the  very  seed-corn 
"f  the  country.  Heaven  knows  what  will  become  of  my 
|'"oi  people  next  year  if  the  war  continue  !  " 

"What  will  become  of  the  Prosince  in  the  hands  (jf 
I  i«ui(  ois   bigot.'"  replied  La  Corne  St.  Luc.     *' They  say^ 


ii8 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


Philibert,  that  a  certain  i^reat  lady  at  Court,  who  is  his  part- 
ner or  patroness,  or  both,  has  obtained  a  <;rant  of  your 
father's  sequestered  estate  in  xVormandy,  for  her  rehuive, 
the  Count  de  Marville.  Had  you  heard  of  that,  PhiUbert; 
It  is  the  kitest  news  from  I'^rance." 

"Oh,  yes.  Chevalier!  Ill  news  like  that  never  misses  the 
mark  it  is  aimed  at.     'i'he  news  soon  reached  my  father  I " 

"  And  how  does  your  father  take  it .''  "  ' 

"  My  father  is  a  true  philosopher  ;  he  takes  it  as  Socrates 
might  have  taken  it ;  he  laughs  at  the  Count  de  Marvilli-, 
who  will,  he  says,  want  to  sell  the  estate  before  the  year  i^ 
out,  to  pay  his  debts  of  honor  —  the  only  debts  he  ever  (loe> 
pay." 

"  If   Pigot   had   anything   to   do  with   such   an   outrage, 
exclaimed  Le  (lardeur  warmly,  "  I  would  renounce  him  m 
the    spot.       I    have   heard    ]]igot  speak   of   this   gift   tu   IK 
Marville,  whom  he  hates.      He  says  it  was  all   La   Poinpa 
d(jur's  doing  from  first  to  last,  and  1  believe  it." 

*'  Well,"  remarked  La  Corne,  "  Bigot  has  plenty  of  siib 
of  his  own  to  answer  for  to  the  .Sieur  Philibert,  on  the  clavot 
account,  without  reckoning  this  among  them." 

'I'he  loud  rejiort  of  a  cannon  shook  the  windows  of  tik 
room,  and  died  away  in  long-repeated  echoes  among  tlit 
distant  hills. 

''That  is  the  signal  for  the  Council  of  War,  my  Lady, 
said  La  Corne.     "  A  soldier's  luck  !  just   as  we  were  goini; 
to  have  music  and  heaven,  we  are  summoned  to  field,  camp, 
or  council.'" 

The  gentlemen  rose  and  accompanied  the  ladies  to  tlu 
drawing-room,  and  prepared  to  depart.  Colonel  Philihii: 
took  a  cou  teous  leave  of  the  ladies  of  Tilly,  looking  in  iIk 
eyes  of  Amelie  for  something  which,  had  she  not  luniai 
them  cpnckly  ui)on  a  vase  of  llowers,  he  might  have  iouiu: 
there.  She  plucked  a  few  sprays  from  the  boucjuel,  aiiw 
handed  them  to  him  as  a  token  of  pleasure  at  meeting  Inn 
again  in  his  own  land. 

"Recollect,  Pierre  Philibert!"  said  the  Lady  de  Tilly. 
holding  him  cordially  by  the  hand,  "the  Manor  House  o: 
Tilly  is  your  second  home,  where  you  are  ever  welcome.  ' 

Philibert  was  deeply  touched  by  the  genuine  and  sI;Ul1} 
courtesy  of   the   lady.      He   kis.sed   licr   hand   with   grateful 


THE    SOLDIER  S    WELCOME. 


119 


reverence,  and  bowing  to  both  the  hulies,  accompanied  La 
(.'oine  St.  Luc  and  Le  Gardeur  to  the  castle  of  St.  Louis. 

Amehe  sat  in  the  recess  of  the  window,  resting  her  cheek 
upon  her  tremulous  hand  as  she  watched  the  gentlemen  pro- 
ceed on  their  way  to  the  castle.  Her  mind  was  overHowing 
with  thoughts  and  fancies,  new,  enigmatical,  yet  delightful. 
Her  nervous  manner  did  not  escape  the  loving  eye  of  her 
aunt ;  but  she  spoke  not  —  she  was  silent  under  the  burden 
of  a  secret  joy  that  found  not  vent  in  words. 

Suddenly  Amelie  rose  from  the  window,  and  seated  herself, 
in  her  impulsive  way,  at  the  organ.  Her  fingers  touched  the 
kevs  timidly  at  first  as  she  began  a  trembling  prelude  of  her 
own  fantasy.  In  music  her  pent-up  feelings  found  congenial 
expression.  The  fire  kindled,  and  she  presently  burst  out 
with  the  voice  of  a  seraph  in  that  glorious  psalm,  the  11 6th: 

'♦'Toto  pectore  diligam 
Unice  et  Doniimim  colam, 
Qui  lenis  niihi  supplici 
Non  duram  appulit  aurem. 

Aurem  qui  milii  supplici, 
Noil  duram  dedit ;  hunc  ego 
Donee  pectora  spiritus 
Pulset  semper,  ainaho.'  " 


The  Lady  de  Tilly,  half  guessing  the  truth,  would  not 
wound  the  susceptibilities  of  her  niece  by  appearing  to  do 
so ;  so  rose  quietly  from  her  seat  and  placed  her  arms  gently 
round  Amelie  when  she  finished  the  psalm.  She  pressed 
her  to  her  bosom,  kissed  her  fondly,  and  without  a  word,  left 
her  to  find  in  music  relief  from  her  high-wrought  feelings. 
Her  voice  rose  in  sweeter  and  loftier  harmonies  to  the  peal- 
ing of  the  organ  as  she  sang  to  the  end  the  joyful  yet  solemn 
psahn,  in  a  version  made  for  (^ueen  Mary  of  France  and 
Scotland  when  life  was  good,  hope  all  brightness,  and  dark 
days  as  if  they  would  never  come. 


CHAPTER   XII. 


THE    CASTLE    OF    ST.    LOUIS. 


THE  Count  cle  la  Galissoniere,  with  a  number  of  officers 
of  rank  in  full  uniform,  was  slowly  pacin*jj  up  and  tlown 
the  long  gallery  that  fronted  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  waitiiii; 
for  the  Council  of  War  to  open  ;  for  although  the  hour  had 
struck,  the  Intendant,  and  many  other  high  officials  of  the 
Colony,  had  not  yet  arrived  from  Heaumanoir. 

The  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  a  massive  structure  of  stone,  wiih 
square  Hanking  towers,  rose  loftily  from  the  brink  oi  ilk- 
precipice,  overlooking  the  narrow,  tortuous  streets  of  iht 
lower  town.  The  steeple  of  the  old  Church  of  Notre  1  )ame 
des  Victoires,  with  its  gilded  vane,  lay  far  beneath  the  feel 
of  the  observer  as  he  leaned  over  the  balustrade  of  iron  iliat 
guarded  the  gallery  of  the  Chateau. 

A  hum  of  voices  and  dense  sounds  rose  up  from  ihc 
market  of  Notre  Dame  and  from  the  quay  where  ships  and 
bateaux  were  moored.  The  cries  of  sailors,  carters,  and 
habitans  in  thick  medley  floated  up  the  steep  cliffs,  pleasant 
sounds  to  the  ear  of  the  worthy  Governor,  who  liked  the 
honest  noises  of  industry  and  labor  better  than  all  the  music 
of  the  Academy. 

A  few  merchantmen  which  had  run  the  blockade  of  the 
English  cruisers  lay  at  anchor  in  the  stream,  where  ilif 
broad  ri\'er  swept  majestically  round  the  lofty  cape.  In 
the  midst  of  them  a  newly-arrived  Ring's  ship,  the  J^'lciir-i- 
Lis,  decorated  with  streamers,  Hoated  proudly,  like  a  swan 
among  a  fiock  of  teal. 

Le  (lardeur,  as  an  officer  of  the  garrison,  went  to  report 
himself  to  the  military  commandant,  while  La  Corne  St. 
Luc  and  Colonel  I'hilibert  proceeded  to  the  gallery,  where 
a  crowd  of  officers  were  now  assembled,  waiting  for  the 
Council. 

The  Governor  at  once  called  Philibert  aside,  and  took  his 

120 


arm.  "  Thilibe: 
finding  the  Inte 

"  No  (lifficiilt 
the  IiUcndant  a 
of  thciii."  An  e( 
which  the  Gove; 

••  Ah  I  1  undei 
hour  of  dayligh 
speak  the  word. 


l)re 


leiul  mv  sun 


than  Mn[)rised 
I'hilibcrl  had  re 

••  1  found  him 
j(uests.     Me  rect 
1  expected,  and 
tor  opening  the 

••Oh.  bigot  n 
strong  intellect 
his  heart  is  pro 
long  your    stay 
Governor,  dintin 

••  1  hastened  c 
making  prize  of 
off  with  me,  as  . 
Chateau." 

•  \'ou  did  rigl 
the  vuung  men  c 

"  He  shall  no 
I'liilibert,  resolui 
cooperation  ?  "  a 

••Assuredly,  1 
'..in  devise  to  re 
tompanionship  ( 
be  peiinitted  to 
are  at  work  for 
care  not  for  the 
insult." 

"  Ah  !  you  hav 
I'hilibert,  lookin, 
stream. 

"Mews?    Yes 


THK    CASTLK    OF    ST.    LOUIS. 


121 


arm.     "  Ihiliberl,"  said  he,  "I  trust  you  had  no  difficulty  in 
tiiuling  the  Intendant  .^  " 

•'So  (lirtkijlty  whatever,  your  Excellency.  I  discovered 
tht  Iiitendant  and  his  friends  by  ear  long  before  1  got  sight 
of  tlicm."  An  e(iui\ocal  smile  accompanied  Philibert's  words, 
which  the  Oovernor  rightly  interpreted. 

••Ah  !  I  understand,  Philibert ;  they  were  carousing  at  that 
hour  of  daylight  ?  Were  they  all  —  ?  Faugh  !  I  shame  to 
>peak  the  word.  Was  the  Intendant  in  a  condition  to  com- 
pifliciul  my  summons.''"  The  (lovernor  looked  sad,  rather 
than  .sui[)rised  or  angry,  for  he  had  expected  no  less  than 
Phihbcrt  had  reported  to  him. 

••  1  found  him  less  intoxicated,  I  think,  than  many  of  his 
i^uests.  He  received  your  message  with  more  politeness  than 
1  expected,  and  promised  to  be  here  punctually  at  the  hour 
for  opening  the  C'ouncil." 

••Oh.  bigot  never  lacks  politeness,  drunk  or  sober:  that 
strong  intellect  of  his  seems  to  defy  the  power  of  wine,  as 
liis  iiearl  is  proof  against  moral  feeling.  \'ou  did  not  pro- 
long your  stay  in  l5eaumanoir,  I  fancy  ? "  remarked  the 
(",()Vi;rnor,  dinting  the  point  of  his  cane  into  the  Hoor. 

••  1  hastened  out  of  it  as  I  would  out  of  hell  itself !  After 
inaking  prize  of  my  friend  I)e  Repentigny  and  bringing  him 
(ill  with  me,  as  1  mentioned  to  you,  I  got  quickly  out  of  the 
Chateau." 

•  \ou  did  rightly,  Philibert:  the  Intendant  is  ruining  half 
the  \uunir  men  of  birth  in  the  Colony." 

'•He  shall  not  ruin  Le  Oardeur  if  1  can  save  him,"  said 
I'liilibert,  resolutely.  "  May  1  count  upon  your  Excellency's 
co()peration  ?  "  added  he. 

•Assuredly,  Philibert!  Command  me  in  anything  you 
•  111  devise  to  rescue  that  nol)le  young  fellow  from  the  fatal 
(Oinpauionship  of  liigot.  But  I  know  not  how  long  I  shall 
be  permitted  to  remain  in  New  France  :  powerful  intrigues 
are  at  work  for  my  removal  !  "  added  the  Governor.  "  I 
care  not  for  the  removal,  so  that  it  be  not  accompanied  with 
insult." 

"  Ah  !  you  have  received  news  to-day  by  the  frigate  ?"  said 
l'hilil)ert,  looking  down  at  the  King's  ship  at  anchor  in  the 
stream. 

"  News  ^    Yes  ;    and    such    new\s,   Philibert !  "  replied  the 


122 


THE    GOLDKX    DOCi. 


(Governor  in  at  one  of  despondency.  '■  It  needs  the  wisdo 
of  Solon  to  legislate  for  this  land,  and  a  Hercules  to  cleans 
its  Augean  stables  of  official  corruption.  But  my  influciitc 
at  Court  is  nil  —  you  know  that,  I'hilibert  !  " 

"  Hut  while  you  are  Governor  your  advice  ought  to  pre- 
vail with  the  King,"  replied  I'hilibert. 

"  My  advice  prevail!   Listen,  Philibert:  my  letters  to  the] 
King  and  the  Minister  of  Marine  and  Colonies  have  biir. 
answered  by  whom,  think  you?" 

"Nay,  I  cannot  conceive  who,  out  of  the  legal  channi!, | 
would  dare  to  reply  to  them." 

"No!  no  man  could  guess  that  my  official  despatcheJ 
have  been  answered  by  the  Marquise  de  I'ompadour  !  Slid 
replies  to  my  despatches  to  my  sovereign  !  " 

"La  Pompadour!"  exclaimed  Philibert  in  a  burst  o!l 
indignation.  "  She,  the  King's  ni stress,  reply  to  your  dc; 
patches!  Has  France  come  to  be  governed  by  courtesan?, 
like  imperial  Rome  ?  " 

"  Yes!  and  you  know  the  meaning  o^  that  insult,  Philiben 
'They  desire  to  force  me  to  resign,  and  I  shall  resign  as  soun 
as  I  see  my  friends  safe.      I  will  seixe  the  King  in  his  ricd, 
but  never  more  in  a  colony.     This  poor  land  is  dooiiit'dtul 
fall   into  the  hands  of  its  enemies  unless  we  get  a  speedy 
peace.      France  will  help  us  no  more  !  " 

"Don't  say  that,  your  Fxcellency !  France  will  suilIv 
never  be  untrue  to  her  children  in  ine  New  World  !  IV. 
our  resources  are  not  yet  all  exhausted:  we  are  not  driven 
to  the  wall  yet,  your  Excellency  !  " 

"  Almost,  1  assure  you,  Philibert !  But  we  shall  under- 
stand that  l)etter  after  the  Council." 

"  What  say  the  despatches  touching  the  negotiations  iijoingl 
on  for  peace?"  asked  Philibert,  who  knew  how  true  were] 
the  (iovernor's  \aticinations. 

"  They  speak  fa\'orably  of  peace,  and  I   think,  correctly. 
Philibert;  and  you  know  the   King's  armies  and  the  Kiiig'^ 
mistresses   cannot   all   be   maintained   at  the   same  time- 
women  or  war,  one  or  other  must  give  way,  and  one  need  I 
not  doubt  which  it  will  be,  when  the  women  rule  Court  and  | 
camp  in  I'Yance  at  the  same  time !  " 

"To  think  that  a  woman  picked  out  of  the  gutters  o: I 
Paris   should   rule    I'Vance    and    answer   your   despatches! 


THE    CASTI.F.    OF    ST.    LOUIS. 


123 


hilibert,   ;\n^nily ; 


is  enough   to  drive   honorable 


saUl     I'lllliULM  I,    iiiij;iii_\  ;     '"it 

Frenchmen  mad.      IJiit  what  says  the  Marquise  de   Pompa- 
dour ? " 

'*  She  is  especially  severe  upon  my  opposing  the  fiscal 
iiK-asuros  and  commercial  policy,  as  she  calls  it,  of  her 
frieiul  the  Inlendant!  She  approves  of  his  grant  of  a 
in()n()])()ly  of  trade  to  the  (irand  ("omjiany,  and  disputes 
niv  right,  as  Governor,  to  interfere  with  the  Intendant  in 
the  tinances  of  the  Colony." 

Philibert  felt  deeply  this  wound  to  the  honor  and  dignity 
of  his  chief.      He  pressed  his  hand  in  warmest  sympathy. 

The  (lovernor  understood  his  feelings.  '*  \'ou  are  a  true 
friend,  I'hilibert,"  said  he;  "ten  men  like  you  might  still 
save  this  Colony  !  P>ut  it  is  past  the  hour  for  the  Council, 
and  still  Pigot  delays !  He  must  have  forgotten  my  sum- 
mons." 

"  1  think  not ;  but  he  might  have  to  wait  until  Cadet, 
\'ariii.  Deschenaux,  and  the  rest  of  them  were  in  a  condition 
fit  to  travel,"  answered  Philibert  with  an  air  of  disgust. 

"()  I'hilibert!  the  shame  of  it!  the  shame  of  it!  for  such 
thie\es  to  have  the  right  to  sit  among  loyal,  honorable  men," 
exclaimed,  (jr  rather  groaned,  the  Covern^jr.  "They  have 
the  real  power  in  New  I'Yance,  and  we  the  empty  title  and 
the  killing  responsibility!  Dine  with  me  to-night  after  the 
Council,  I'hilibert:    1  have  much  to  say  to  you." 

"Not  to-night,  your  Kxcellency  !  My  father  has  killed 
the  fatted  calf  for  his  returned  prodigal,  and  I  must  dine 
with  him  tonight,"  answered  Philibert. 

"  Right  !  P>e  it  to-morrow  then  !  ( "ome  on  \\'ednesday," 
replied  the  Governor.  "  Vour  father  is  a  gentleman  who 
carries  the  princi]:)les  of  true  nobility  into  the  walks  of 
trade:  you  are  happy  in  such  a  father,  Philibert,  as  he  is 
t(jrtunaie  in  such  a  son."  The  Governc^r  bowed  to  his 
friend,  and  rejoined  the  groups  of  otticers  upon  the 
terrace. 

A  Hash,  and  a  column  of  smoke,  white  and  sudden,  rose 
from  the  great  battery  that  flanked  the  Chateau.  It  was 
the  second  signal  for  the  Council  to  commence.  The  ('ount 
de  la  Galissoniere,  taking  the  arm  of  La  Corne  St.  Luc, 
entered  the  Castle,  and  followed  l)y  the  crowd  of  officers, 
proceeded  to  the  great  Ffall  of  Council  and  Audience.     'I'he 


124 


THE  GOLDEN'  DOG. 


Governor,  followed  by  his  secretaries,  walked  forward  to 
the  vice-regal  chair,  which  stocxl  on  a  dais  at  the  head  of  a 
long  table  covered  with  crimson  drapery.  On  each  side  oi 
the  table  the  members  of  the  Council  took  the  phice> 
assigned  to  them  in  the  order  of  their  rank  and  precedents 
but  a  long  array  of  chairs  remained  unoccupied,  'riitsc 
seals,  belonging  to  the  Royal  Intentlant  and  the  other  hy^\] 
ofificers  of  the  Colony  who  had  not  yet  arrived  to  take  ihiir 
places  in  the  Council,  stood  empty. 

The  great  hall  of  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis  was  palatial  in 
its  dimensions  and  adornments.  Its  lofty  coved  ceiling 
rested  on  a  cornice  of  rich  frieze  of  carved  work,  supporid 
on  polished  pilasters  of  oak.  Tiie  panels  of  w.iinscotiii:: 
upon  the  walls  were  surrounded  by  delicate  arabesques,  qik; 
hung  with  paintings  of  historic  interest — portraits  of  iIk 
kings,  governois,  intendants,  and  ministers  of  state  who  IkuI 
been  instrumental  in  the  colonization  of  New  France. 

Over  the  Governor's  seat  hung  a  gorgeous  escutcheon  of 
the  royal  arms,  dra;:c:'  with  a  cluster  of  white  (lags  sprinkkd 
with  golden  lilies,  the  emblems  of  French  sovereignty  in  the 
Colony. 

Among  the  jjortraits  on  the  walls,  besides  those  of  liic 
late  and  present  King,  which  hung  on  each  side  ui 
the  throne,  —  might  be  seen  the  features  of  Richelieu,  whu 
first  oriranized  the  rude  settlements  on  the  St.  Lawreiia 
into  a  bod\  politic  —  a  refle.x  of  feudal  I'rancc ;  ami  ot 
Colbert,  who  made  available  its  natural  wealth  and  iv 
sources  by  peopling  it  with  the  best  scions  of  the  motlu'i 
land,  the  noblesse  and  peasantry  of  Normandy,  Hrilt.mv, 
and  .\(|uitaine.  'I'here  too  might  be  seen  the  keen,  hdkl 
features  of  Cartier,  the  (irst  discoverer,  and  of  Chani|)lain, 
the  lirst  explorer  of  the  new  land  and  the  founder  of  (^uehce 
'I'lie  gallant,  restless  Louis  lluade  tie  {'"ronlenac  was  picliiied 
then;  side  by  side  with  hi-"  fair  countess,  called  by  reason 
of  her  surpassing  loveliness  "the  divine;"  Vaudreuil  too, 
who  spent  a  long  life  of  devotion  to  his  country,  and  Meau- 
harnais,  who  nourished  its  young  strength  until  it  was  ahlf 
to  resist  not  onl)'  the  powerful  confederacy  of  the  I'ive 
Nations  but  the  still  more  powerful  league  of  New  Knglancl 
and  the  other  Fngiish  Colonies.  There,  also,  were  seen  ihe 
sharp,  intellectual  face  of   Laval,  its  Ursi  bishop,  who  oi^aii- 


THK    CASTI.E    OF    SI'.    f.OUIS. 


125 


ized  the  Church  and  education  in  the  Colony;  and  of  'I'alon, 
wisest  of  intendants,  who  devoted  himself  to  the  impros-e- 
ment  (»f  ai^riculture,  the  increase  of  trade,  and  the  we'i-being 
of  all  the  King's  subjects  in  New  Frajice.  And  one  more 
striking  portrait  was  there,  worthy  to  rank  among  the  states- 
men and  rulers  of  New  PVance,  the  prle,  calm,  intellectual 
features  of  Mere  Marie  de  I'lncarnation,  the  tlrst  superior 
of  the  Crsulines  of  (Quebec,  who,  in  obedience  to  heavenly 
visions,  as  she  believed,  left  France  to  found  schools  for  the 
children  of  the  new  colonists,  and  who  taught  her  own 
womanly  graces  to  her  own  sex,  who  were  destined  to  be- 
come the  future  mothers  of  New  France. 

In  marked  contrast  with  the  military  uniforms  of  the 
oliiccis  surrounding  the  council-table  were  the  l)lack  robes 
and  tonsured  heads  of  two  or  three  ecclesiastics,  who  had 
boon  c-.Hed  in  by  the  Governor  to  aid  the  council  with  their 
knowledge  and  advice.  There  were  the  Abbe'  Metavet,  of 
the  Algonciuins  of  the  North  ;  l*ere  Oubal,  the  Jesuit  mis- 
sionary of  the  Abenaquais  of  the  Fast,  and  his  confrere,  lia 
K'chardie,  from  the  wild  tribes  of  the  i''ar  West;  but  con- 
spicuous among  the  able  and  iniliit;ntial  mi'jsionaries  who 
were  the  real  rulers  c^f  the  Indian  nation.-^  allied  with  France 
was  the  famous  Sulpicien,  Abbe'  Pic|uet,  "the  King's  mis- 
sionary," as  he  was  styled  in  royal  ordinances,  and  the 
apostle  to  the  Iroquois,  whom  he  was  laboring  to  convert 
and  bring  over  to  the  side  of  France  in  the  great  dispute 
raised  between  France  and  Kngland  for  supremacy  in  North 
America. 

Upon  the  wall  behind  the  vice-regal  chair  hung  a  great 
map.  drawn  by  the  bold  hand  of  Al>be  Piquet,  represent- 
in,:;  the  claims  as  well  as  actual  possessions  of  l^'rance  in 
America.  A  broad,  red  line,  beginning  in  Acadia,  tra\eised 
ihe  map  westerly,  taking  in  Fake  Ontario  and  running 
south(!rly  along  the  crests  and  ridges  of  the  Appalachian 
Mountains,  it  was  traced  with  a  firm  hand  dr)wn  t  )  far-off 
Idtiisiiuia,  claimmg  for  l'"rance  the  great  valleys  of  the  Ohio, 
ilie  Mississippi,  and  the  vast  territories  watered  by  the  Mis- 
M'Uii  and  the  Colorado  —  thus  henuning  the  Fnglish  in 
hilween  the  walls  of  the  Appalachian  range  on  the  west  and 
the  seacoast  on  the  east. 

The  Ablie    Pi(iuel   luid  lately,  in   a  canoe,  descended   the 


126 


TIIK    (U)IJ>EN     !)()(.. 


Belle  Riviere,  as  the  voyageurs  called  the  noble  Ohio, 
1^'rom  its  source  to  its  junction  with  the  solitary  Mississippi 
the  Abbe  had  planted  upon  its  conspicuous  bluffs  the  ensij^nis 
<jf  France,  with  tabl(;ts  of  lead  bearing  the  JJciir-dc-lis  and 
the  proud  inscription,  ^'- Afanibiis  date  /i/ia  pknis,^'  —  WYwt'i 
destined,  after  a  fierce  struggle  for  empire,  to  be  tranipla! 
into  the  earth  by  the  feet  of  the  victorious  English. 

The  Abbe,  deeply  impressed  with  the  dangers  thai  im- 
pended  over  the  Colony,  labored  zealously  to  unite  the 
Indian  nations  in  a  general  alliance  with  France.  He  had 
already  brought  the  powerful  Algonquins  and  Nipissin2;.s 
into  his  scheme,  and  planted  them  at  Two  Mountains  as  a 
bulwark  to  protect  the  city  of  Ville  Marie.  Me  had  created 
a  great  schism  in  the  powerful  confederacy  of  the  five 
Nations  by  adroitly  fanning  into  a  Hame  their  jealousy  of 
Fnglish  encroachments  upon  th<>ir  ancient  territory  on  baki 
Ontario;  and  bands  of  Iroquois  had,  not  long  since,  hold 
conference  with  the  Oovernor  of  New  France,  denouncin;' 
the  English  for  disregarding  their  exclusive  right  to  their 
own  country.  "'I'he  lands  we  possess,"  said  they  at  a  great 
council  in  Ville  Marie,  "the  lands  we  jwssess  were  given 
to  us  by  the  Master  of  Life,  and  we  acknowledge  to  hold  of 
no  other !  " 

The  Abbe'  had  now  strong  hopes  of  perfecting  a  scheme 
which  he  afterwards  accomplished.  A  powerful  body  of 
the  Iroquois  left  their  villages  and  castles  on  the  Mohawk 
and  (xenesee  rivers,  and  under  the  guidance  of  the  Ahhc 
settled  round  the  new  P'ort  of  La  Presentation  on  the  .St. 
Lawrence,  and  thus  barred  that  way,  for  the  future,  agaiiisi 
the  destructive  inroads  of  their  countrymen  who  remained 
faithful  to  the  English  alliance. 

Pending  the  arrival  of  the  Royal  Intendant  the  memheis 
oi  the  (Council  indulged  freely  in  conversation  bearing  iiioie 
or  less  upon  the  important  matters  to  be  discussed,  —  the 
state  of  tile  country,  tiie  movements  of  the  enemy,  and  not 
.seldom  intermingled  remarks  of  tlissatijfaction  and  impa- 
tience at  the  absence  of  the  Fntendant. 

The  revel  at  IJeaumanoii  was  well  known  to  them  ;  and 
eyes  Hashed  and  lips  curled  in  ojien  scorn  at  Ihe  well- 
understood  reason  of  the  Intendant's  delay. 

"  My  private  letters  by  the  I'^cur-ilc-l/is^'  remarked  ISeaii- 


THE    CASTIJ-:    OI'-    ST.     LOUIS. 


127 


hainais,   "  relate,    among    other    Court    gossip,    that    orders 

[will  be  sent    out   to  stop  the  defensive  works    at    Quebec, 

[and  pull  down  what  is  built  !     They  think  the  cost  of  walls 

Iround  our  city  can  be  better  bestowed  on  political  favorites 

(and  certain  high  personages  at  Court."     Ikauharnais  turned 

Itowards  the  Governor.     "  Has  your  Excellency  heard  aught 

jof  this?"  asked  he. 

••  Ves  I     It   is   true    enough,    Heauharnais !      I    also   have 

Ircceivt'd  communications  to  that  effect  !  "  replied  the  Gover- 
nor,  with    an    effort    at    calmness    which    ill-concealed    the 

[shame  and  disgust  that  filled  his  soul. 

There  was  an  indignant  stir  among  the  officers,  and  many 

jlips  seemed  trembling  with  speech.     'I'he  impetuous  Rigaud 

(de  Vaudreuil  broke  the  fierce  silence.      He  struck  his  fist 
heavily  on  the  table. 
"Ordered  us  to  stop  the  building  of  the  walls  of  Quebec, 

[and  to  pull  down  what  we  have  done  by  virtue  of  the  King's 
,'/,vv/  did  I  h(  ^r  your  Excellency  right.-'"  repeated  he 
in  a  tone  of  utmost  incredulity.     "The  King  is  surely  mad 

|to  think  of  such  a  thing  !  " 

"Y'cs,  Rigaud!  it  is  as  I   tell  you;  but  w-e  must  respect 

[the  royal  command,  and  treat  His  Majesty's  name  as  be- 

jcunies  loyal  servants." 

"  !'(■////■('  sdi/it  bleu  ! —  heard  ever  Canadian  or  Erenchman 

j.such  moonshine  madness!  1  repeat  it,  your  Excellency  — 
dismantle  Quebec?  How^  in  God's  name  are  the  King's 
dominions  and  the  King's  subjects  to  be  defended  ?  "    Rigaud 

hjot  warmer.  He  was  fearless,  and  would,  as  every  one 
know,  have  out  his  say  had  the  King  been  present  in 
person.     "  I]e  assured,  your  Excellency,  it  is  not  the  King 

Iwlio  orders  that  affront  to  his  faithful  colony;  it  is  the 
Kini;"s  ministers  —  the    King's    mistresses-     the  snuff-box- 

Itapping  courtiers  at  Versailles,  who  can  spend  the  public 
money  in  more  elegant  ways  than  in  raising  up  \valls  round 

jour  brave  oKl  city  !     Ancient  honor  and  chivalry  of   l'"rance  ! 

jwhat  has  become  of  you  ? '" 

Rii^aud  sat  down  angrily;  the  emotion  he  displayed  was 
too  nii!ch  in  accord  with  the  feelings  v^f  the  gallant  officers 
present  to  excite  other  than  marks  of  approbation,  except 
'iniong  a  few  personal  friends  of  the  Intendant,  who  took 
their  cue  from  the  avowed  wishes  of  the  Court. 


128 


THE    fiOLDEN    DOG. 


"  Wliat  reason  does  His  Majesty  give,"'  asked  LaCorrit 
St.  Luc,  ''for  tiiis  singular  communication  ? '' 

"The  only  reason  given  is  found  in  the  concluding  para. 
graph  of  the  despatch.  I  will  allow  the  Secretary  to  read 
so  much  of  it,  and  no  more,  before  the  Intendant  arri\es. 
'['he  (iovernor  looked  up  at  the  great  clock  in  the  hall  with 
a  grim  glance  of  impatience,  as  if  mentally  calling  down 
anything  but  a  blessing  upon  the  head  of  the  loileiini; 
Intendant. 

"The  Count  de  le  (ialissoniere  ought  to  know,"  said  the 
despatch  sneeringly,  "  that  works  like  those  of  Quebec  Ah 
not  to  be  undertaken  by  the  governors  of  colonies,  exctpi 
under  express  orders  from  the  King;  and  tlierefore  it  is 
His  Majesty's  desire  that  upon  the  reception  of  this  desjiatcli 
your  {excellency  will  discontinue  the  works  that  have  hwii 
begun  upon  (Quebec.  Kxtensive  fortifications  require  slnm: 
garrisons  for  their  defence,  and  the  King's  treasury  \< 
already  exhausted  by  the  extraordinary  expenses  of  tln'  war 
in  K,urope.  It  cannot  at  the  same  time  carry  on  the  war 
in  Kurope  and  meet  the  heavy  drafts  made  upon  it  from 
North  America.'' 

The  Secretary  folded  the  despatch,  and  sat  down  wilhoui 
altering  a  line  of  his  impassive  face.  Not  so  the  m;i)oii[y 
of  the  officers  round  the  table :  they  were  excited,  and  ready 
to  spring  up  in  their  indignation.  I'he  Ring's  name  ic 
strained  them  all  but  Rigaud  de  Vaudreuil,  who  impeUiously 
burst  out  with  an  oath,  exclaiming,  —  "  They  may  as  woli 
sell  New  France  at  once  to  the  enemy,  if  we  are  not  to 
defend  (^)uebec  !  The  treasury  wants  money  for  the  war  in 
F.urope  forsooth!  No  doubt  it  wants  money  for  the  war 
when  so  much  is  lavished  upon  the  pimps,  panders,  ami 
harlots  of  the  C'ourt  !  " 

The  Crovernor  rose  -uiddenly,  striking  the  table  with 
his  scabbard  to  stop  Rigaud  in  ''is  rash  and  dangomib 
speech". 

"  Not  a  word  more  of  connnenl,  ("hevalier  Rigaud  !  "  said 
he,  with  a  sharp  imperative  tone  that  cut  short  debate  ;  "im: 
another  word!  His  Majesty's  name  and  those  of  his  mini^ 
ters  must  be  spoken  here  respectfully,  or  not  at  all  I  Sii 
down,  Chevalier  de  Vaudreuil ;  you   are  inconsiderate."' 

"1  obey  your  Excellency  -    I  am,  [   dare  say,  inconsider. 


ate !  but  I    am   i 
but  not  spent. 
luul  his  say,  and 
'•  The    King's 
consideration,"  r 
engineers,  "  and 
^tnince  from  this 
sidcr  iiis  order. 
ihe  fall  of  Qiieb 
tin)!-'  to  meet  the 
wDiild  be  the  los!! 
the  (lisirrace  of  F 
"  I    cordially  r 
I,;i  C'orne  St.  Lu 
be  found    in  a    ; 
read !     Nay,  you 
Mnilinjj;,  "  I  shall 
so  ill-limed  a  mi 
His  Majesty  has 
work  of  the  min 
"  La    Corne  ! 

I  finf!;er  with  a  war: 
further  until  we  i 
of  the  Intendant : 
moment  a  distant 

[  of  the  city. 

An  officer  of  tl 
whispered  sonietl 
"A  riot  in  the 

Imoh  attackintc  th 
tain  Duval,  turn  i 

lonel  St.  Remy  ta 

itendant,  and  al 

A  number  of  o: 

I  iientlemen  !  We 
(iovernor.  "We 
f''w  minutes   anc 

l^me  trifling  affai 
Another   loud 

I'inctly   heard    in 
cheering  the  Int( 


THE  CASrr.K  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


129 


ate !  but  I  am  right  !  "  Rigaud's  passion  was  subsiding, 
hut  not  spent.  He  obeyed  tiie  order,  however.  He  had 
had  liis  say,  and  Hung  himself  heavily  upon  his  chair. 

••  The  King's  despatch  demands  respectful  and  loyal 
consideration,"  remarked  De  Lery,  a  solid,  grave  officer  of 
engineers,  "  and  I  doubt  not  that  upon  a  proper  remon- 
strance from  this  council  His  Majesty  will  graciously  recon- 
sider Iiis  order.  The  fall  of  Louisbourg  is  ominous  of 
the  fall  of  Quebec.  It  is  imperative  to  fortify  the  city  in 
time  to  meet  the  threatened  invasion.  The  loss  of  Quebec 
would  be  the  loss  of  the  Colony  ;  and  the  loss  of  the  Colony, 
tlic  disgrace  of  l^'rance  and  the  ruin  of  our  country." 

'•  I  cordially  agree  with  the  Chevalier  de  Lery,"  said 
La  ("orne  St.  Luc ;  "  he  has  spoken  more  sense  than  would 
he  found  in  a  shipload  of  such  despatches  as  that  just 
read!  Nay,  your  Excellency,"  continued  the  old  officer, 
smiling.  "  I  shall  not  affront  my  sovereign  by  believing  that 
so  ill-timed  a  missive  came  from  him  !  Depend  upon  it, 
His  Majesty  has  neither  seen  nor  sanctioned  it.  It  is  the 
work  of  the  minister  and  his  mistresses,  not  the   King's." 

"La  Corne !  La  Cornel"  The  Governor  raised  his 
finger  with  a  warning  look.  '*  We  will  not  discuss  the  point 
furthor  until  we  are  favored  with  the  presence  and  opinion 
of  the  Intendant ;  he  will  surely  be  here  shortly  1  "  At  this 
moment  a  distant  noise  of  shouting  was  heard  in  some  part 
of  the  city. 

An  officer  of  the  day  entered  the  hall  in  great  haste,  and 
whispered  something  in  the  Governor's  ear. 

"A  riot  in  the  streets!"  exclaimed  the  (k)vernor.  "The 
mol)  attacking  the  Intendant!  \'ou  do  not  say  so!  Cap- 
tain Duval,  turn  out  the  whole  guard  at  once,  and  let  Col- 
onel St.  Kemy  take  the  command  and  clear  the  way  for  the 
Inlendant,  and  also  clear  the  streets  of  all  disturbers." 

A  number  of  officers  sprang  to  their  fjet.  "  Keep  seated, 
s'entlt'nien  !  We  must  not  break  u])  the  Council,"  said  the 
•  iovernor.  "We  are  sure  to  have  the  Intendant  here  in  a 
fw  minutes  and  to  learn  the  cause  of  this  uproar.  It  is 
^onu'  trilling  affair  of  noisy  habitans,  I  have  no  doubt." 

Another  loud  shout,  or  rather  yell,  made  itsidf  dis- 
inctly  heard  in  the  council-chamber.  "  It  is  the  people 
Klieering  the   Intendant  on   his  way  through  the  city!"  re- 


UO 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


marked  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  ironically.  "  Zounds  !  what  ,. 
Tiicarjnc  they  make  !  See  what  it  is  to  be  popular  with  ih,. 
citizens  of  Quebec  !  " 

There  was  a  smile  all  round  the  table  at  La  Corne > 
sarcasm.  It  offended  a  few  friends  of  the  Intendant,  how- 
ever. 

"The  Chevalier  La  ("orne  speaks  boldly  in  the  absencf 
of  the  Intenc'ant,"  said  Colonel  Leb(Luf.  "A  <]jentlcinaii 
woulrl  give  ;i  loids  i{\>r  any  day  to  buy  a  whip  to  lash  the 
rabble  sooner  than  a  son  to  win  their  a])plause  !  I  would 
not  give  a  red  herring  for  the  good  opinion  of  all  (^u-jhcc! 

"They  say  in  l'"rance,  Colonel,"  replied  La  Corne  dc  Si 
Luc,  scornfully,  "that  'King's  chaff  is  better  than  dthc: 
people's  corn,  and  that  lish  in  the  market  is  cheaper  tliar: 
fish  in  the  sea  I  '  I  believe  it,  and  can  prove  it  to  anv 
gentleman  who  maintains  the  contrary  !  " 

There  was  a  laugh  at  La  ('orne's  allusion  to  the  Mar 
quise  de  Pompadoin\  whose  original  name  of  Jeanne  I'ojy 
son,  gave  rise  to  inhnite  jests  and  sarcasms  among  the 
people  of  low  and  high  degree. 

Colonel  Lebceuf,  choleric  n^  he  was,  refrained  from  press- 
ing the  quarrel  with  La  Corne  St.  Luc.  Me  sat  sulkily 
smothering  his  wTath  —  longing  to  leave  the  hall  and  pi 
to  the  relief  of  the  Intendant,  but  kept  against  his  will  by  ilk 
command  of  the  Governor. 

The  drums  of  the  main  guard  beat  the  assembly.  The 
clash  of  arms  and  the  tramp  of  many  feet  resounded  from 
the  court-yard  of  the  Chateau.  The  members  of  the  Coun 
oil  looked  out  of  the  windows  as  the  troops  formed  in  column, 
and  headed  by  Colonel  St.  Remy,  defiled  out  of  the  Castle 
gate,  the  thunder  of  their  drums  drowning  every  other  snund 
and  making  the  windows  shake  as  they  marched  through  the 
narrow  streets  to  the  scene  of  disturbance. 


OX  the  Ru 
l.uU  Fon 
huih  hy  the  Hi 
niiy  loiully  call 
wealthy  inerch; 
the  odious  moi 
the  Intendant. 

The  edihce  \ 
soli'i,  plain,  aiu 
New  iM-ance  an 
Tadousac  to  Vi 
the  liourgeois, 
connected  with 

The  house  v 
111!  its  fa(^-ade,  h 
that  so  much 
strangers  and  v 
Tile  tablet  of  th 
|.ni<;inatical  insc 
"'iteet  beneath,  ' 
I'ehohier  to  gut 
sympathies  over 
^1(1  memorial. 

Ah"ve  and  bt 
'^li^'  thigh  bone  o 
'l^t-'ply  ill  the  St 
Hid  puiuler  over 


Va 
U 


CHA'TKR    XII r. 


THE    CM  I  EN    I)  OR. 


ON  the  Rue  Ruade,  a  street  coinmeinorative  of  the  gal- 
lant Fontenac,  stood  the  hirj^e,  imposing;  edifice  newly 
built  h}'  the  llourjjjeois  IMiilibert,  as  the  people  of  the  Col- 
Diiv  fondly  called  Nich(;las  Jatpiin  Thilibert,  the  great  and 
woallhv  merchant  of  (Quebec  and  their  champion  against 
ihc  odious  monopolies  of  the  Grand  Company  favored  by 
the  Inlcndant. 

The  edihce  was  of  stone,  spacious  and  lofty,  but  in  style 
soli'l,  plain,  and  severe.  It  was  a  wonder  of  architecture  in 
New  I'"rance  and  the  talk  and  admiration  of  the  Colony  from 
Tadousac  to  Ville  Marie.  It  comprised  the  city  residence  of 
ihc  Hourgeois,  as  well  as  suites  of  oflices  and  ware-rooms 
connected  with  his  immense  business. 

The  house  was  bare  of  architectural  adornments ;  but 
nn  its  f;i(;ade,  blazing  in  the  sun,  was  the  gilded  sculpture 
thai  so  much  piqued  the  curiosity  of  both  citizens  and 
siraniiers  and  was  the  talk  of  every  seigniory  in  the  land. 
The  iid)let  of  the  Chicit  D'or,  ---the  (lolden  Dog,  —  with  its 
i.nij^nuuical  inscription,  looked  down  defiantly  upon  the  busy 
^iieel  beneath,  where  it  is  still  to  be  seen,  perplexing  the 
i)oholder  to  guess  its  meaning  and  exciting  our  deepest 
sympathies  over  the  tragedy  of  which  it  remains  the  sole 
,  .^id  memorial. 

.\h(i\e  and  beneath  the  ligure  of  a  couchant  dog  gnawing 
liie  ihi^h  bone  of  a  man  is  graven  the  weird  inscrijition,  cut 
ilcL'ply  in  the  stone,  as  if  for  all  future  generations  to  read 
Hid  ponder  over  its  meaning  : 


"  Je  suis  un  chien  (|in  rouge  I'os, 
l']n  le  ronge.int  ju  preiuls  inon  repos. 
Un  temps  vieiuha  (p\i  n'est  pas  venu 
Que  je  mordrai  (]iii  ni'aiira  nKjrdii." 

•7.V'- 
'3' 


132 


riir:  (ioi.nicN   dog. 


Or  in  English  : 

"  I  am  a  dog  tliat  gnaws  his  l)one, 
I  couch  and  gnaw  it  all  al(  .le  — 
A  time  will  come,  which  is  not  yet, 
When  I'll  l)ite  him  by  whom  Tm  l)it." 

The  magazines  of  the  bourgeois  I'hililjurt  presented  not 
only  an  epitome  but  a  substantial  portion  of  the  comnun, 
of  New  France.  Hales  of  furs,  whicii  had  been  biou^li: 
down  in  fleets  of  canoes  from  the  wild,  almost  iinl-:n'nvi; 
regions  of  the  Northwest,  lay  piled  up  to  the  beams  -.\v.\h 
of  the  smooth  beaver,  th(;  delicate  otter,  black  and  silvn 
fox,  so  rich  to  the  eye  and  silky  to  the  touch  thai  i!,. 
proudest  beauties  longed  for  their  i)ossessi()n  ;  seaKkin 
to  trim  the  gowns  of  portly  burgomasters,  and  ermine  i. 
adorn  the  robes  of  nobles  and  kings.  The  spoils  of  ih. 
wolf,  bear,  and  buffalo,  worked  to  the  softness  of  cloth  In 
the  hands  of  Indian  women,  were  stored  for  winter  v.ear 
and  to  till  the  sledges  with  warmth  and  comfort  when  tht 
northwest  wind  freezes  the  snow  to  fine  dust  and  the  aurora 
borealis  moves  in  stately  possession,  like  an  army  of  spear- 
men, across  the  northern  sky.  The  harvests  of  the  colonisb, 
the  corn,  the  wool,  the  flax ;  the  timl)er,  enough  to  huild 
whole  navies,  and  mighty  pines  fit  to  mast  the  talk^i 
admiral,  were  stored  upon  the  wharves  and  in  the  \v;irL' 
houses  of  the  IJourgeois  upon  the  banks  of  the  St.  Lawrence, 
with  iron  from  the  royal  forges  of  the  Three  Ri\ers  and 
heaps  of  ginseng  from  the  forests,  a  product  worth  its  weight 
in  gold  and  eagerly  exchanged  by  the  (."hinese  for  their  leas, 
silks,  and  sycee  silver. 

The  stately  mansion  of  Delmont,  overlooking  the  pietu; 
esque  valley  of  the  St.  C-harles.  was  the  residence  pr()i)er  oi 
the  Bourgeois  Philibeit,  but  the  shadow  that  in  time  tali- 
over  every  hearth  had  fallen  upon  his  when  the  last  of  lli^ 
children,  his  beloved  son  Pierre,  left  home  to  pursue  his  iiiiii 
tary  studies  in  France.  During  IHerre's  absence  the  lumii^^ 
at  r^elmont,  although  kept  up  with  the  same  strict  alteniioii 
which  the  bourgeois  joaid  to  everything  under  his  rule,  \va> 
not  occupied  by  him.  Me  preferred  his  city  mansion.  a> 
more  convenient  for  his  alTair.s,  and  resided  therein.  Hi- 
partner  of  many  years  of  happy  wedtled  life  had  been  ioiii 


THK    CMIKN    DOR. 


133 


dead:  she  left  no  void  in  his  heart  that  another  could  fill, 
iiiu  lie  kept  up  a  large  household  for  friendship's  sake,  and 
was  lavish  in  his  hospitality.  In  secret  he  was  a  gra\e 
solitary  man.  caring  for  the  present  only  for  the  sake  of  the 
thou.iands  dependent  on  him  —  living  much  with  the  mem- 
orv  of  the  dear  dead,  and  mucJi  with  the  hope  of  the  future 
ill  his  bon  Pierre. 

The  Hourgeois  was  a  man  worth  looking  at  and,  at  a 
i^^iance,  one  to  trust  to,  whether  you  sought  the  stiong  hand 
to  help,  the  wise  head  to  counsel,  or  the  feeling  heart  to 
svnipaliiize  with  you.  He  was  tall  and  strongly  knit,  with 
features  of  a  high  patrician  cast,  a  noble  head,  covered  thick 
with  grizzly  hair  -  one  of  those  heads  so  tenacious  of  life 
that  they  ne\er  grow  bald,  but  carry  to  the  grave  the  snows 
of  a  hundred  years.  His  quick  gray  eyes  caught  your 
ineaidng  ere  it  was  lialf  spoken.  A  nose  and  chin,  moulded 
with  beauty  and  precision,  accentuated  his  hiindsome  face. 
Ills  lips  were  gra\e  even  in  their  smile,  for  gaiety  was  rarely 
a  gue^t  in  the  heart  of  the  IJourgeois — a  man  keenly  sus- 
ceptible to  kindness,  but  strong  in  resentments  and  not  to  be 
placated  without  the  fullest  atonement. 

The  IJourgeois  sat  by  the  table  in  his  spacious,  well-fur- 
nished drawing-room,  which  overlooked  the  Rue  IJuade  and 
j;a\e  him  a  glimpse  of  the  tall,  new  Cathedral  and  the  trees 
and  gardens  of  the  Seminary.  He  was  engaged  in  reading 
letters  and  papers  just  arrived  from  France  by  the  frigate. 
rapidly  extracting  their  contents  and  [pencilling  on  their 
margins  nicf.nos.  for  further  reference  to  his  clerks. 

The  onlv  other  occupant  of  the  room  was  a  \er\-  elderlv 
lady,  in  a  black  gown  of  rigid  Huguenot  fashion.  A  close 
white  cap,  tied  under  her  chin,  set  olT  to  the  worst  advantage 
her  sharp,  yet  kindly,  features.  Not  an  end  oi  ribbon  or 
edi;;e  of  lace  could  be  seen  to  point  to  one  iiair-breadth  of 
indulgence  in  the  vanities  of  the  world  by  this  strict  old 
Puritan,  who,  imder  tliis  unpromising  exterior,  possessed  the 
kindliest  heart  in  C'hristendom.  Her  dress,  if  of  rigid  sever- 
ity, was  mI  saintly  purity,  and  almost  i^ained  the  eye  with  its 
precision  antl  neatness.  So  fond  aie  we  oi  some  freedom 
hum  over-much  care  as  from  over-much  righteousness,  that 
a  str.iy  tress,  a  loose  ribbon,  a  little  rent  even,  will  relieve 
the  eye  and  hold  it  with  a  subtile  charm.      Under  the  snow- 


134 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


white  hair  of  Dame  Rociielle  for  she  it  was,  the  worthv 
old  housekeeper  and  ancitiiit  governess  of  the  Hou.st'  oi 
Piiilibert  -  you  saw  a  i<ind,  intelligent  faee.  Her  dark  cvts 
betrayed  her  Southern  origin,  contirnied  by  her  spcL-ch. 
which,  although  refined  by  culture,  still  retained  the  soti  in- 
tonation and  melody  of  her  native  Languedoc. 

Dame  Rociielle,  the  daughter  of  an  ardent  C'alvinist  min- 
ister, was  born  in  the  fatal  year  of  the  revocation  of  the 
Edict  of  Xantes,  when  Louis  Xl\'.  undid  the  glorious  work 
of  Henri  IV.,  and  covoreil  France  with  persecution  and 
civil  war,  filling  foreign  countries  with  the  elect  of  her 
population,  her  industry,  and  her  wealth,  e.xiled  in  the  mime 
of  religion. 

Dame  Rochelle's  childhood  had  iiassed  in  the  trvin^ 
scenes  of  the  great  persecution,  and  in  the  succeeding  civil 
wars  of  the  Cevennes  she  lost  all  that  was  nearest  and 
dearest  to  her —  her  father,  her  brothers,  her  kindred  niarh 
all,  and  lastly,  a  gallant  gentleman  of  Dauphiny  to  whom 
she  was  betrothed.  She  knelt  beside  him  at  his  place  of 
execution  —  or  martvrdom,  for  he  died  for  his  faith  and 
holding  his  hands  in  hers,  pledged  her  eternal  fidelity  to  his 
memory,  aijd  faithfully  kept  it  all  her  life. 

The  Count  de  Philibert,  elder  brother  of  the  Bourgeois, 
was  an  officer  of  the  King ;  he  witnessed  this  sad  sceMo. 
took  pity  upon  the  hapless  girl,  and  gave  her  a  home  and 
protection  with  his  family  in  the  Chateau  of  Philibert,  where 
she  spent  the  rest  of  her  life  until  the  Hourgeois  succeeded 
to  his  childless  brother.  In  the  ruin  of  his  house  she  would 
not  consent  to  leave  them,  but  followed  their  fortunes  to 
New  France.  She  had  been  the  faithful  frientl  and  com- 
panion of  the  wife  of  the  Bourgeois  and  the  educator  of  his 
children,  and  was  now,  in  her  old  age,  the  trusted  friend 
and  manager  of  his  household.  Her  days  were  divided 
between  the  exercises  of  religion  and  the  practical  tluties 
of  life.  The  light  that  illumined  her,  though  flowing  throiij;!! 
the  narrow  window  of  a  narrow  creed,  was  still  light  of  divine 
origin.  It  satisfied  her  faith,  and  filled  her  with  resignation, 
hope,  and  comfort. 

Her  three  studies  were  the  Bible,  the  hymns  of  Marot, 
and  the  sermons  of  the  famous  Jurieu.  She  had  listened 
to  the  prophecies  of  Grande  Marie,  and  had  even  herself 


THE    CHIEN    D  OK. 


135 


been   breathed   upon   on    the   top  of    Mount    Peira   by   the 
Huguenot  prophet,  I)e  Serre. 

Good  Dame  Rochelle  was  not  without  a  feeling  that  at 
liniL's  tlie  s[)iritual  gift  slie  had  received  when  a  girl  made 
ilhclf  manifest  by  intuitions  of  the  future,  which  were,  after   o 
all,  perhaps  only  enianali(jns  of  her  natural  good  sense  and 
clear  inlellect-     tiie  foresight  of  a  pure  mind. 

The  wasting  persecutions  of  the  Calvinists  in  the  moun- 
tains of  the  C'evennes  drove  men  and  women  wild  with 
desperate  fanaticisiu,  l)e  Serre  had  an  immense  following. 
He  assumed  to  impart  the  Holy  Spirit  and  the  gift  of  tongues 
bv  breathing  ui)on  the  believers.  The  refugees  carried  his 
doctrines  to  Kngland,  and  handed  down  their  singular  ideas 
t(i  nuxlern  times;  and  a  sect  may  still  be  found  which  be- 
lieves in  the  gift  of  tongues  and  practises  the  power  of 
prophesying,  as  taught  originally  in  the  Cevennes. 

The  good  dame  was  not  reading  this  morning,  although 
the  volume  before  her  lay  open.  Iier  glasses  lay  upon  the 
page,  and  she  sat  musing  by  the  open  window,  seldom  looking 
out,  however,  for  her  thoughts  were  chiefly  inward.  The 
return  of  Pierre  Philibert,  her  foster  child,  had  filled  her  with 
joy  and  thankfulness,  and  she  was  pondering  in  her  mind 
the  details  of  a  festival  wdiicli  the  Bourgeois  intended  to  give 
in  honor  of  the  return  of  his  only  son. 

The  IJourgeois  had  finished  the  reading  of  his  packet  of 
letters,  and  sat  musing  in  silence.  He  too  was  intently 
thinking  of  his  son.  His  face  was  filled  with  the  satisfaction 
of  old  Simeon  when  he  cried,  out  of  the  fulness  of  his  heart, 
■  /A '////>/('/  nunc  lUmitiis  I'" 

'Dame  Rochelle,"  said  he.  She  turned  promptly  to  the 
voice  of  her  master,  as  she  ever  insisted  on  calling  him. 
"Were  I  superstitious,  I  should  fear  that  my  great  joy  at 
I'ierre's  return  might  be  the  prelude  to  some  great  sorrow." 

"(lod's  blessing  on  Pierre  !"  said  she,  "he  can  only  bring 
joy  to  this  house.  Thank  the  Lord  for  what  He  gives  and 
what  He  takes  !  He  took  Pierre,  a  stripling  from  his  home, 
and  returns  him  a  great  man,  fit  to  ride  at  the  Ring's  right 
hand  and  to  be  over  his  host  like  Benaiah,  the  son  of  Jehoi- 
ada,  over  the  host  of  Solomon." 

'■  (iianJ  incrci  for  the  comparison,  dame  !  "  said  the 
Bourgeois,  smiling,  as  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair.     "  But 


136 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


Pierre  is  a  Frenchman,  and  would  prefer  commandinj;  a 
brigade  in  the  army  of  the  Marshal  de  Saxe  to  being  over 
the  host  of  King  Solomom.  But,"  continued  he,  gravclv, 
"  I  am  strangely  happy  to-day,  Deborah,"  —  he  was  wont 
to  call  her  Deborah  when  very  earnest,  —  "and  I  will  nui 
anticipate  any  mischief  to  mar  my  ha])piness.  Pshaw!  h 
is  only  the  reaction  of  over-excited  feelings.  I  am  weak  in 
the  strength  of  my  joy." 

"  'I'he  still,  small  voice  speaks  to  us  in  that  way,  master, 
to  remind  us  to  place  our  trust  in  Heaven,  not  on  earth, 
where  all  is  transitory  and  uncertain ;  for  if  a  man  live  nuiiiv 
years,  and  rejoice  in  them  all,  let  him  remember  the  days  of 
darkness,  for  they  are  many  !  We  are  no  strangers  to  the 
vanity  and  shadows  oi  human  life,  master !  Pierre's  return 
is  like  sunshine  breaking  through  the  clouds.  God  is  pleased 
if  we  bask  in  the  sunshine  when  he  sends  it." 

"  Right,  dame  !  and  so  we  will  !  The  old  walls  of  liel 
mont  shall  ring  with  rejoicing  over  the  return  of  their  heir 
and  future  owner." 

The  dame  looked  up  delightedly  at  the  remark  of  the 
Bourgeois.  She  knew  lie  had  destined  Belmont  as  a  resi- 
dence for  Pierre ;  but  the  thought  suggested  in  her  mind 
was,  perhaps,  the  same  which  the  Bourgeois  had  mused  upon 
when  he  gave  expression  to  a  certain  anxiety. 

"  Master,"  said  she,  "  does  Pierre  know  lluit  the  Chevalier 
Bigot  was  concerned  in  the  false  accusations  against  you, 
and  that  it  was  he,  prompted  by  the  Cardinal  and  the  I'lin 
cess  de  Carignan,  who  enforced  the  unjust  decree  of  ilie 
Court  ?  " 

"I  think  not,  Deborah.  I  never  told  Pierre  that  liiijot 
was  ever  more  than  the  iwocat  dti  Rot  in  my  persecution. 
It  is  what  troubles  me  amidst  my  joy.  If  Pierre  knew  th;i; 
the  Intenilant  had  been  my  false  accuser  on  the  part  ol  tlu 
Cardinal,  his  sword  would  not  rest  a  day  \\\  its  .scabbard 
without  calling  Higot  to  a  bloody  accouiU.  Indeed,  it  is  all 
I  myself  can  do  to  refrain.  When  I  met  him  for  tlu'  \\\>\ 
time  here,  in  the  Palace  gate,  I  knew  him  again  and  l(Hil<ed 
him  full  in  the  eyes,  and  he  knew  me.  lie  is  a  'uold  liouiul, 
and  glared  back  at  me  without  shrinking.  Had  he  smiled 
1  should  have  struck  him ;  l^it  we  passed  in  silence,  with 
a  salute  as  mortal  as  enemies  ever  ;^ave  earh  other,     ll  is 


THE    CHIEN    I)  OR. 


137 


well  perhaps,  I  wore  not  my  sword  that  Jay,  for  I  felt  my 
passion  rising — a  thing  I  abhor,  Pierre's  young  blood 
would  not  remain  still  if  he  knew  the  Intendant  as  I  know 
him.  lint  1  dare  not  tell  him!  There  would  be  bloodshed 
ai  once,  Deborah  !  " 

••  1  tear  so,  master  !  1  trembled  at  Bigot  in  the  old  land  ! 
tremble  at  him  here,  where  he  is  more  powerful  than  be- 
f,,i\',  1  saw  him  passing  one  day.  He  stopped  to  read  the 
inscription  of  the  Golden  Dog.  His  face  was  the  face  of 
a  til  lul,  as  he  rode  hastily  away.  He  knew  well  how  to 
interpret  it." 

"Ha!  vou  did  not  tell  me  that  before,  Deborah!''  The 
llouri;eois  rose,  excitedly.  "  IHgot  read  it  all,  did  he?  I 
hope  every  letter  of  it  was  branded  on  his  soul  as  with  red- 
hot  iron  !  " 

"Dear  master,  that  is  an  unchristian  saying,  and  nothing 
^uiod  can  come  of  it.  '  Vengeance  is  mine,  saith  the  Lord  I ' 
I  Our  worst  enemies  are  best  left  in  His  hands." 

Ihe  (lame  was  proceeding  in  a  still  more  moralizing 
^lr;lin,  when  a  noise  arose  in  the  street  from  a  crowd  of 
persons,  habitans  for  tlie  most  part,  congregated  round  the 
house.  The  noise  increased  to  such  a  degree  that  they 
stopped  their  conversation,  and  both  the  danic  and  the 
llour^eois  lookev.1  out  of  the  window  at  the  increasing  multi- 
'utle  that  had  gathered  in  the  street. 

The  crowd  had  come  to  the  Kue  Buade  to  see  the  famous 
lahlel  of  the  (xolden  Dog,  which  was  talked  of  in  every  seig- 
nior) in  New  France;  still  more,  perhaps,  to  see  the  Hour- 
j;i;ois  I'hilibert  himself  —  the  great  merchant  who  contended 
ti  I  the  lights  of  the  habitans,  and  who  would  not  yield  an 
inch  to  the  Kriponne. 

The  bourgeois  looked  down  at  the  ever- increasing  throng, 

country  people  for  the  most  part,  with  the'r  \vi\es,  with  not 
;i  few  ( itizens,  whom  he  could  easily  distinguish  by  their 
(liL'ss  and  manner.  The  bourgeois  stood  rather  withdrawn 
from  the  front,  so  as  not  to  l)i'  r(H:og.ii/ed,  for  he  hated 
iiUensi'lv  anything  like  a  demonstration,  still  less  an  (jvation. 
Ill'  (ould  hear  man\'  loud  xoices,  howe\er,  in  the  crowd, 
ind  caught  up  the  chief  toi)ics  they  discussed  with  each 
nther. 

His  eyes  rested   .several    times   on    a   wiry,  jerking  little 


138 


THE    G(JL1)I:X     I)(J(J 


fellow,  whom  he  recognized  as  jean  La  Marche,  the  fiddler, 
a  ccnsitairc  of  the  manor  of  Tilly.  He  was  a  well-known 
character,  and  had  drawn  a  large  circle  c»f  the  crowd  around 
himself. 

"  I  want  to  see  the  l]ourgeois  Philibert  !  "  exclaimed  jean 
La  Marche.  "  He  is  the  bravest  merchant  in  New  France- 
the  people's  friend.  Bless  the  (lolden  Dog,  and  curse  the 
F'ri|)onne  !  " 

"  Hurrah  for  the  (iolden  Dog,  and  curse  the  l''riponnel" 
exclai  ned  a  score  of  voices  ;  "  won't  you  sing,  jeitn  ?  " 

"  Not  now  ;  I  have  a  new  ballad  ready  on  the  Golden  Dog, 
which  I  shall  sing  to-night  — that  is,  if  you  will  care  to  listen 
to  me."  jean  said  this  with  a  very  demure  air  of  mock  mod- 
esty, knowing  well  that  the  reception  of  a  new  ballad  from 
him  would  etjual  the  iuior  for  a  new  aria  from  the  priiiu 
donna  of  the  opera  at  Paris. 

"We  will  all  come  to  hear  it,  jean!"  cried  they:  "Init 
take  care  of  your  fiddle  or  you  will  get  it  crushed  in  the 
crowd." 

"  As  if  I  did  no'  know  how  to  takr  care  of  my  darling 
baby!"  said  Jean,  holding  his  violin  .ligh  above  his  head, 
"  It  is  my  only  child;  it  will  laugh  or  cry,  and  love  and  scold 
as  I  bid  it,  and  make  everybody  else  do  the  same  w  hen  I 
touch  its  heart-strings."  jean  had  brought  his  violin  under 
ills  arm,  in  plane  of  a  spade,  to  help  build  up  the  ualis 
of  the  city.  He  had  never  heard  of  vVmphion,  with  his 
lyre,  building  up  the  walls  of  Thebes;  l)ut  jean  k'lew  that 
in  his  violin  lay  a  power  of  work  by  other  hands,  il  he 
played  while  they  labored.  "  It  lightened  toil,  and  in.ule 
work  go  merrily  as  the  bells  of  'I'illy  at  a  weddinj;," 
said  he. 

There  was  innnense  talk,  with  jilenty  of  laughter  and  nu 
thought  of  mischief,  among  the  crowd.  The  habit.ins  of  ' 
/hint  and  the  habitans  of  (//  luis  connningled,  as  they  riuoly 
did,  in  a  friendly  wa\.  Nor  was  anything  to  provoke  a 
tjuarri'l  said  e\('U  to  the  Acadians,  whose  rutle  patois  was 
a  source  of  merry  jest  to  the  belter-speaking  Canadians. 

The  Acadians  hatl  llocked  in  great  numbers  into  QucIky 
on  the  seizure  of  their  Province  by  the  l-'-nglish,  stnrdy, 
robust,  t|uarrelsome  fellows,  who  went  a'^)Ul  challenging 
people    in    their     reckless    way,  —  Etions   pas    nio/i    iii,iiln\ 


THE  cnri:x  n  or. 


139 


\jiionsici(r i — -but  all  were  civil  to-day,  and  tuques  were 
I  nulled  (lit  and  bows  exchanged  in  a  style  of  easy  politeness 
jlluit  would  not  have  shamed  the  streets  of  Paris. 

Tlic  crcnvd  kept  increasing  in  the   Rue  Puiade.     The  two 

[sturdy  beggars  who  vigorously  kept  their  places  on  the  stone 

kieps  of  the  barrier,  or  gatewa\-,  of  the  Ikisse  Ville  reaped  an 

lunusiud  harvest  of  the  smallest  coin  —  Max  Grimau,  an  old, 

[diMiblcd  so'dier,  in   ragged  uniform,  which  he  had  worn  at 

'tik'  defence  of   Prague  under  the  Marshal  de  Pelleisle,  and 

blind  bartemy,  a  mendicant  born    -the  former,  lour'  longued 

and  iinpoiLunate,   the   latter,   silent  and  only   holding  out  a 

I  shaking  hand  for  charity.     No    I'inance   Minister  or   Royal 

Intendant   studied  more  earnestly  the   pioblem   how  to  tax 

[the  kingdom  than   Afax  and   Plind  J]artemy  how  to  toll  the 

uasser^-by,  and  with  less  success,  perhaps. 

To-tlay  was  a  red-letter  day  for  the  sturdy  beggars,  foi-  the 

|ric\vs  tlew  fast  that  an  ox'ation  of  some  popular  kind  was  to 

he  given  to  the  JJourgeois   Philibert.     The   habic...:     came 

[liouping   up   the  rough   mountain-road  that  leads  from  the 

liasse  Ville  to  the  Upper  Town  ;  and  up  the  long  stairs  lined 

with  the  stalls  of  Pascpie  pedlars  —  cheating,  loquacious  var- 

Ids  — which  formed  a  by-way  from  the  lower  regions  of  the 

Rue  de  ( "hamplain — a  break-neck  thoroughfare  little  liked 

jbv  the   old    and    asthmatical,    but     nothing    lo    the    sturdy 

rdimhers,"    as   the  habitans  called  the  lads  of  (Quebec,  or 

lllie  li_i;hl-footed  lasses  who  displayed    their  trim    ankles   as 

[they  Hew  \\\)  the  breezy  steps  to  church  or  market. 

.Max  (Irimau  and  151ind  l>artemv  had  ceased  counting 
Ithi'ir  coins.  'l"he  passers-by  came  \\\)  in  still  increasing  num- 
liei>.  until  the  street,  from  the  liarrier  of  the  IJasse  Ville  to 
[the  CailuHlral,  was  lilled  witii  a  noisy,  good-humored  crowd, 
jwithiiui  an  object  except  to  stare  at  the  (l(ddi,'n  Dog  and  a 
|(losii\  "lO  (-atch  a  glimpse  of  the  llourgeois  i'hilibert. 

The  ciowd  had  become  very  (Kmse,  when  a  troc^p  of 
keiulenien  rode  at  full  speed  into  tlic  Rue  Puade.  and  after 
Itiyiii;:;  ii'cklessly  to  force  their  wav  through,  came  to  a 
IMuldrn  lialt  in  tlie  midst  of  the  surging  mass. 

The  lnt(Mulant,  C!adet,  and  Varin  had  liddim  from  lienu- 
[iiiauoir.  followed  b\-  a  train  of  still  llushetl  guests,  who,  after 

has!)  purilicalion.  had  retv'.i r.ed  with  their  host  to  the 
|t-Uy      a  noisy  troop,  loquacious,  laughing,  shouting,   as   is 


140 


THE    (lOLDEN    DOG. 


the  wont  of  men  reckless  at  all  times,  and  still  more  defian; 
when  under  the  inlluence  of  wine. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  rabble,  Cadet  ? "  askeu 
Bigot ;  "  they  seem  to  be  no  friends  of  yours.  That  fellow 
is  wishing  you  in  a  hot  place!  "  added  IJigol,  laughing,  aslh 
pointed  out  a  habitan  who  was  shouting  ''A  />as  Cadet!" 

"Nor  friends  of  yours,  either,"  replied  Cadet.  "Thev 
have  not  recognized  you  yet.  Bigot.  When  they  do,  tlkv 
will  wish  you  in  the  hottest  place  of  all  1  " 

The  Intendant  was  not  known  personally  to  the  habitaiis, 
as  were  Cadet,  Varin,  and  the  rest.  Loud  shouts  and  exe- 
crations were  freely  vented  against  these  as  soon  as  diev 
were  recognized. 

"  Has  this  rabble  waylaid  us  to  insult  us  .''  "  asked  Pjigot. 
"  But  it  can  hardly  be  that  they  knew  of  our  return  to  the 
city  today."  The  Intendant  began  to  jerk  his  horse  round 
impatiently,  but  without  avail. 

"  Oh,  no,  your  Kxcellency  !  it  is  the  rabble  which  the 
Governor  has  sunnnoned  to  the  King's  conec.  They  are 
paying  their  respects  to  the  (jlolden  Dog,  which  is  the  idol 
the  mob  worships  just  now.  They  did  not  expect  us  to 
interrupt  their  devotions,  I  fancy." 

"The  vile  »i()i//()//s .'  their  fleece  is  not  worth  the  shear- 
ing!" exclaimed  l)igot  angrily,  at  the  mention  of  the 
(iolden  Dog,  which,  as  he  glanced  upwards,  seemed  ti 
glare  deliantly  upon  him. 

"  Clear  the  way,  villains  !  "  cried  Piigot  loudly,  while  dart 
ing  his  horse  into  the  crowd.  "  Plunge  that  Manders  (-art 
horse  of  yours  into  them,  Cadet,  and  do  not  spare  their  toes!' 

Cadet's  rough  disposition  chimed  well  with  the  liiteiid- 
ant's  wish.  "  C'ome  on,  Varin,  and  the  rest  of  you,"  crid 
he,  "give  spur,  and  ligiit  your  way  through  the  rabble." 

The  whole  troop  plunged  matlly  at  the  crf)wd,  striking 
right  and  left  with  their  hea\'y  hunting-whips.  A  violcn; 
scutlle  ensued  ;  many  habitans  were  ritlden  down,  and  some 
of  the  hors(Mnen  dismoimted.  The  Intcndant's  (lascoii 
blood  got  furious :  he  struck  hea\'il\',  right  and  left,  and 
many  a  bleeding  tuc|ue  marked  his  track  in  the  crowd. 

'i'he  habitans  recognized  him  at  last,  and  a  tremendoiis 
yell  burst  out.  "Long  live  the  (Iolden  Dog!  Down  with 
the  Friponne  I  "   while  the  more  bold  ventured  on  the  cry, 


q)o,vn  with  the 

ICompany !" 
Fortup.ately  fo- 

I  utterly  unarmed 
et"toit.->  were  ma( 
pull  the  riders  o 
darlin.u  child,  hi 
cliaiiic.     Jean  ru 

|;i  blow  which  lev 

The  Intendan 

V  bloodv   catast 

|"eois    Philibert, 
messenger    with 
nishcd  himself  i 
imidoring,  threat 
He  was    soon 
but  even  his  intl 
passions   excited 
drums   of    the 
ahove  the  noise 
glittering  bayont 
I'ort.     Colonel   J- 
troops  in  positioi 
once  the    state   ( 
commanded  pea- 
once  obeyed.     'I 
tell  back  cpiietly 
to  resist  the  auth 
A  way  was  made 
friends  were  exti 
They  rode  at 
execrations,    whi 
threats  of  the  c; 
d'Armes  and  rod 
of  St.  Louis. 

The  crowd,  r 
some  of  the  mc 
tonsetiuences  of 
They  dispersed 
tliat  he  might  r 
proceedings. 


TIIK    cm  EX    1)  OK. 


141 


I)o*vn  with  the  Intendant  and  the  thieves  of  the  Grand 
i  Company !  " 

Fortunately  for  the  troop  of  horsemen  the  habitans  were 
[utterlv  unarmed;  but  stones  be^^an  to  be  thrown,  and 
jelloiis  were  made  by  them,  not  always  unsuccessfully,  to 
ipull  the  riders  off  of  their  horses.  I'oor  Jean  La  Marche's 
idarlinn  child,  his  favorite  violin,  was  crushed  at  the  first 
iharjit.:.  jean  rushed  at  the  Intendant's  bridle,  and  received 
;i  blow  which  levelled  him. 

TIk'  Intendant  and  all  the  trooj)  now  drew  their  swords. 
A  bloody  catastrophe  seemed  imi)en(linL;,  when  the  Hour- 
.■eois  rhilibert,  seeing"  the  state  of  affairs,  despatched  a 
inesscn<j,cr  with  lidinj^s  to  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  and 
rushed  himself  into  the  street  amidst  the  surgin<T  crowd, 
imphninu;,  threateninj;,  and  compelling;-  them  to  give  way. 

lie  was  soon  recognized  and  cheered  by  the  people; 
but  e\en  his  influence  might  have  failed  to  calm  the  fiery 
passions  excited  by  the  Intendant's  violence,  had  not  the 
(hums  of  the  approaching  soldiery  suddenly  resounded 
above  the  noise  of  the  riot.  In  a  few  minutes  long  files  of 
flittering  bayonets  were  seen  streaming  down  the  Rue  du 
lort.  Colonel  St.  Remi  rode  at  their  head,  forming  his 
troops  in  jDosition  to  charge  the  crowd.  The  colonel  saw  at 
once  the  state  of  affairs,  and  being  a  man  of  judgment, 
coimiumded  peace  before  resorting  to  force.  He  was  at 
once  obeyed.  'I'he  people  stood  still  and  in  silence.  I'hey 
fell  back  cpiietly  before  the  troops.  They  had  no  purpose 
to  resist  the  authorities — indeed,  had  no  purpose  whatever. 
A  way  was  made  by  the  soldiers,  and  the  Intendant  and  his 
triemls  were  extricated  from  their  danger. 

They  rode  at  once  out  of  the  mob  amid  a  volley  of 
iXL'crations,  whicii  were  replied  to  by  angry  oaths  and 
threats  of  the  cavaliers  as  they  galloped  across  the  JMace 
li'Annes  and  rode  pell-mell  into  the  gateway  of  the  Chateau 
<tt  St.  Louis. 

The  crowd,  relieved  of  their  presence,  grew  calm  ;  and 
some  of  the  more  timid  of  them  got  apprehensive  ol  the 
(.onseipicnces  of  this  outrage  ui)on  the  Royal  Intendiint. 
They  dispersed  cjuietly,  singly  or  in  groups,  each  one  hoping 
that  he  might  not  be  called  upon  to  account  for  the  day's 
proceedings. 


142 


TIIK    fJOLDEN     I)()(i. 


The  Intcndant  and  his  cortege  of  friends  rode  furinihh 
into  the  courtyard  of  the  Chateau  of  St.  Louis,  dishevellei- 
bespattered,  and  some  of  them  hatless.  Tiiey  dismountt!;. 
and  foaming  with  rage,  rushed  through  the  lobbies,  and  wj;;. 
heavy  tramphng  of  feet,  clattering  of  scabbards,  and  a  bed- 
lain  of  angry  tongues,  burst  into  the  C'ouncil  Chamber. 

The  Intendant's  eyes  shot  fire.  Mis  (lascon  l)lo()(l  was 
at  fever  heat,  liushing  his  swarthy  check  like  the  purple  In;;. 
of  a  hurricane.  He  rushed  at  once  to  the  council-tahlL, 
and  seeing  the  (If.'vernor,  saluted  him,  but  spoke  in  lono 
forcibly  kept  under  by  a  violent  effort. 

"  Your  Excellency  and  genliemen  of  the  Council  wi' 
excuse  our  delay,"  shouted  lligot,  "when  I  inform  ydu  ih,: 
I,  the  Royal  Intendanl  of  Now  l'"rancc,  have;  been  insiiiita, 
pelted,  and  my  very  life  threatened  by  a  .seditious  mob  cun 
gregated  in  the  streets  of  (Quebec." 

"  1  grieve  much,  and  .sympathize  with  your  KxcelluncvV 
indignation,"  replied  the  Go\  ernor  warmly ;  "  I  rejoice  vm 
have  escaped  unhurt.  1  despatched  the  troops  to  ymi; 
assistance,  but  have  not  yet  learned  the  cause  of  the  rioi. 

"The  cause  of  the  riot  was  the  popular  hatred  of  nivHlt 
for  enforcing  the  royal  ordinances,  and  the  seditious  e.xaiiipic 
set  the  rabble  by  the  notorious  merchant,  I'hilibert,  who  i> 
at  the  bottom  of  all  mischief  in  New  France." 

The  (lo\ernor  looked  fixedly  at  the  Intendant,  ;is  lie 
replied  quietly, —  '' Tiie  Sieur  Thiliberl,  although  a  iiki- 
chant,  is  a  gentleman  of  birth  and  loyal  principles,  ai'.ii 
would  be  the  last  man  alive,  I  think,  to  excite  a  riot.  Did 
you  see  the  IJouigeois,  Ciievalier?" 

"I'he  crowd  filled  the  street  n-.-ar  his  magazines,  chccriiij; 
for  the  IJourgeois  and  the  (iolden  Dog.  We  rode  up  and 
entleavoretl  to  force  our  way  through.  I  Jul  I  did  not  see 
the  IJourgeois  himself  until  the  disturbance  had  attained  its 
full  proportions." 

"And  then,  your  Ivvceilency  .''  Surely  the  Hourgeois  was 
not  encouraging  the  nu)b,  or  participating  in  the  riot?" 

"No!  [  do  not  charge  him  with  |xuticipaling  in  the  riol, 
although  the  mob  were  all  his  friends  and  partisans.  More- 
over," said  bigot,  frankly,  for  he  felt  he  owed  his  safety  to 
the  interference  of  the  Hourgeoi.s, '*  it  would  be  unfair  H"! 
to  acknowledge  that  he  ditl  what  he  could  to  protect  us  from 


li)i)lij:aii()n  to  the 


THK    CHI  EN    D  OK. 


143 


the  rabble.  I  charge  Philibert  with  sowing  the  sedition  that 
caused  the  riot,  not  with  noting  himself." 

"But  I  accuse  him  of  both,  and  of  all  the  mob  has 
done!"  thundered  Varin,  enraged  to  hear  the  Intendant 
speak  with  moderation  and  justice,  "  I'he  house  of  the 
(loIUen  Dog  is  a  den  of  traitors;  it  ought  to  be  pulled 
down,  and  its  stones  built  into  a  monument  of  infamy  over 
its  owner,  hung  like  a  dog  in  the  market-place." 

'•Silence,  Varin!"  exclaimed  the  (Governor  sternly.  "I 
will  not  hear  the  Sieur  Philibert  s])oken  of  in  these  injurious 
terms.  I'he  Intendant  does  not  charge  liim  with  this  di.s- 
turhance  :   neither  shall  you." 

"/'^;-  Dicit  I  you  shall  not,  Varin!"  burst  in  La  Corne 
St.  Luc,  roused  to  unusual  wrath  by  the  op)^rol)riuni  heaped 
upon  his  friend  the  i>ourgeois;  "and  you  shall  answer  to 
me  fo''  that  you  have  said !  " 

••  La  Corne  I  La  Corne  !  "  The  Governor  saw  a  challenge 
impending,  and  interposed  witli  vehemence.  "This  is  a 
Council  of  War,  and  not  a  place  for  recriminations.  Sit 
down,  clear  old  friend,  and  aid  me  to  get  on  with  the  busi- 
ness of  the  King  and  his  Colony,  which  we  are  here  met  to 
consider." 

The  appeal  went  to  the  heart  of  La  Corne.  He  sat  down. 
"Von  have  spoken  generously,  C'hevalier  Higot,  respecting 
liie  llourgeois  Philibert,"  continued  the  (jovernor.  "  I  am 
ple;ised  that  you  have  done  so.  My  Aide-de-Camp,  Colonel 
I'hiliherl,  who  is  just  entering  the  Council,  will  be  glad  to 
he.ir  that  your  Excellency  does  justice  to  his  father  in  this 
matter." 

"The  blessing  of  St.  Pennet's  boots  upon  such  justice," 
muttered  C'adet  to  himself.  "  I  was  a  fool  not  to  run  my 
sword  through  Philibert  when  1  hatl  the  chance." 

Tile  Ciovernor  repeated  to  Colonel  I'hilibert  what  had 
been  said  by  I>igot. 

Colonel  Philil)ert  bowed  to  the  Litendant.      "  \  am  under 

iihli-^aiion  to  the  Chevalier  Pigot,"  said  he,  "but  it  astonishes 

iiie  much  that  any  one  shoukl  dare  implicate  my  father  in 

jMii.h  a  disturbance.     Certainly  the  Intendant  does  him  but 

jastice." 

This  remark  was  not  pleasing  to  Pigot,  wno  hated 
I'ulouel    I'hilibert  equally  with   his  father.      "  I   merely  said 


144 


THK    CJOI.DKN     DOG. 


he  had  not  participated  in  the  riot,  Colonel  Philibert,  wjiicfi 
was  true.  I  did  not  excuse  your  father  for  being  at  liie 
head  of  the  party  among  whom  these  outrages  arise.  I 
simply  spoke  truth,  Colonel  Philibert.  I  do  not  eke  o;i 
by  the  inch  my  opinion  of  any  man.  I  care  not  for  tik 
l^jourgeois  Philibert  more  than  for  the  meanest  blue  cap  in 
his  following." 

This  was  an  ungracious  speech.       l>igot  meant  it  to  i.; 
such.      He  repented  almost  of  the  witness  he  had  borne  t 
the   Bourgeois's  cntleavors  to  quell   the   mob.      Put  lie  \\,b 
too  profoundly  indifferent  Lo  men's  opinions  respecting  him 
sell  *o  care  lo  lie. 

v'f>lonel  Philibert  resent'^d  the  Intendant's  sneer  at  hi5 
father.  He  faced  JJigot,  saying  to  him,  —  ''The  Chevaliir 
Pigot  has  done  but  simjile  just:ce  to  my  father  with  refer- 
ence to  liis  conduct  in  regard  to  the  riot.  But  let  the 
Intendant  recllect  that,  although  a  merchant,  my  father  b 
above  all  things  a  Norman  gentleman,  who  never  swervec 
a  hair-breadth  from  the  path  of  honor — -a  gentleman  whos!; 
ancient  nobility  would  dignify  even  the  Royal  Intendant. 
Pigot  looked  daggers  at  this  thrust  at  his  own  conipaivr 
tively  humble  origin.  ''  And  this  I  have  further  to  say. 
continued  Philibert,  looking  straight  in  the  eyes  of  ISigo;, 
Varin,  and  Cadet,  "  whoever  impugns  my  father's  lioinir 
impugns  mine ;  and  no  man,  high  or  low,  shall  do  that  ami 
escape  chastisement ! " 

The  greater  part  of  the  officers  seated  round  the  cotincil- 
board  listened  with  marks  of  approval  to  Philibert's  \iniii 
cation  of  hii  father.  Jki ,  no  one  challenged  his  wouIn 
althouirh  dark,  ominous  lo;  ks  .irlonced  from  one  to  anotix: 
among  the  friends  of  tiie  Intendant.  Pigot  smothered  lii> 
anger  for  the  present,  however;  and  to  prevent  furtl'i  r  rep'v 
from  his  followers  he  rose,  and  bowing  lo  the  Governor, 
begged  His  I^.xcellency  to  open  the  Council. 

"We  have  delayed  the  business  of  the  King  too  H: 
with  these  personal  recriminations,''  said  he.  "T  s!iall  leavt 
t'lis  riot  to  be  dealt  with  by  the  King's  court;:,  who  will 
sharply  put.ish  both  instigators  and  actors  in  this  outraije 
upon  the  royal  authority." 

These  words  seemed  to  end  the  dispute  for  the  present, 


enemv  out  of 


CHAPTER    XIV. 


THE    COUNCIL    OF    WAR. 


THE  ('ouncil  now  opened  in  clue  form.  The  Secretary 
ic;id  the  royal  despatches,  which  were  listened  to  with 
attention  and  respect,  although  with  looks  of  dissent  in  the 
countenances  of  many  of  the  officers. 

'riic  (iovernor  rose,  and  in  a  quiet,  almost  a  solemn 
sirain,  addressed  the  Council:  "Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "from 
the  tenor  of  the  royal  despatches  just  read  by  the  Secretary, 
it  is  clear  that  our  beloved  New  France  is  in  great  danger. 
Tiic  Iving,  overwhelmed  by  the  powers  in  alliance  against 
liiiii.  can  no  longer  reinforce  our  army  here.  'J'he  English 
llccl  is  supreme  —  for  the  mcjment  only,  I  hope!"  added 
liic  (iovernor,  as  if  with  a  prevision  of  his  own  future 
iriiimphs  on  the  ocean.  "  English  troops  are  pc^uring  into 
New  \"ork  and  lioston.  to  combine  with  the  militia  of  Xew 
Kiii^land  and  the  Middle  Cohmies  in  a  grand  attack  upon 
Xew  France.  I'hey  have  commenced  the  erection  of  a 
peat  fort  at  Chouagen  on  Lake  Ontario,  to  dispute  suprem- 
acy with  our  stronghold  at  Niagara,  and  the  gates  of  Carillon 
may  ere  long  have  to  prove  their  strength  in  keeping  the 
eneim  out  of  the  Vallev  of  the  Richelieu.  I  fear  not  for 
CariHon,  gentlemen,  in  ward  of  the  gallant  Count  de  Faisig- 
nan,  wliom  I  am  glad  to  see  at  our  Council.  1  think  Carillon 
is  safe. 

The  {  ount  de  Lusignan,  a  gray-headed  officer  of  soldierly 

I  bearing,  bowed  lov,- to  this  compliment  from   the  Ciovcrnor. 

I"l  ask  the  Count  dc   Lusignan,"  continued   the  (iovernor, 

"wliat  he   thinks   would    result   fiom   our   withdrawing   the 

ganison  from  Carillon,  as  is  suggested  in  the  despatches?" 

"The  1m ve  Nations  would  l)e  on  the  Richelieu  in  a  week, 
aiKi  ilic  luiglish  in  Montreal  a  month  after  such  a  piece  of 
folly  on  our  part  !  "  exclaimed  the  Cdunt  de  Lusignan. 

"\  oil  cannot  counsel  the  abandonment  of  Carillon  then, 

»4S 


146 


TiiK  (i(.)iJ)i:\   i)()(i 


(>)unt  ?  "  A  smile  played  over  the  face  of  the  (loveiiior.  i^ 
if  he  too  felt  the  absurdity  of  his  question. 

"  Not  till  Quebec  itself  fall  into  the  enemy's  hands,  W'h:  n 
that  happens,  Mis  Majesty  will  need  another  adviser  in  thc 
place  of  the  old  Count  de  Lusi<^nan."' 

"  Well  spoken,  Count !  In  your  hands  Carillon  is  safe, 
and  will  one  day,  should  the  enemy  assail  it,  be  covered 
with  wreaths  of  victory,  and  its  flag  be  the  glory  of  .Wv, 
France." 

"  So  be  it.  Governor.  Give  me  but  the  Royal  Roussilldn, 
and  I  pledge  you  neither  English,  Dutch,  nor  Iroquois  bha!! 
ever  cross  the  waters  of  St.  Sacrament." 

"  You  speak  like  your  ancestor  the  crusader,  Count.  Iln; 
I  cannot  spare  the  Royal  Roussillon.  Think  you  you  laii 
hold  Carillon  with  your  present  garrison  .-*  " 

"Against  all  the  force  of  New  England.  l>ut  I  caniioi 
promise  the  same  against  the  English  regulars  now  landin:; 
at  New  York." 

"  They  are  the  same  whom  the  King  defeated  at  T'onteiiov, 
arc  they  not  ?  "  interrupted  the  Intendant,  who,  courtier  as 
he  was,  disliked  the  tenor  of  the  royal  despatches  as  much 
as  any  officer  present, —  all  the  more  as  he  knew  La  Pompa 
dour  was  advising  peace  out  of  a  woman's  considcruiioih 
rather  than  upholding  the  glory  of  France. 

"Among  them  are  many  troops  who  fought  us  at  Fon- 
tenoy.  I  learned  the  fact  from  an  English  prisoner  whom 
our  Indians  brought  in  from  Fort  Lydius,"  replied  the  Count 
de  Lusignan. 

"Well,  the  more  of  them  the  merrier,"  laughed  La  Corne 
St.  Luc.  "  The  bigger  the  prize,  the  richer  they  who  lake  it. 
The  treasure-chests  of  the  English  will  make  up  for  the  beg- 
garly packs  of  the  New  Engianders.  Dried  slock  fish,  am! 
eel-skin  garters  to  drive  away  the  rheumatism,  were  the  usual 
prizes  we  got  from  them  down  in  Acadia ! "" 

"  The  English  of  Fontenoy  are  not  such  despicable  foes," 
remarked  the  Chevalier  de  Lery  ;  "they  sufficed  10  lake 
Louisbourg,  and  if  we  discontinue  our  walls,  will  suffice  to 
take  Quebec." 

"Louisbourg  was  not  taken  by  //vw,  but  fell  throuij,h  the 
mutiny  of  the  base  Swiss  !  "  replied  I^igot,  touched  sharply 
by  any  allusion  to  that  fortress  where  he  had  figured  so  di?- 


THK    COrXCII.    OF    WAK. 


147 


creditably.  "The  vile  hirelinj^s  cleiiuinded  money  of  their 
coiiiinander  when  they  should  have  drawn  the  blood  of  the 
enemy  !  "  added  he,  angrily. 

'•Satan  is  bold,  but  he  would  blush  in  the  presence  of 
I)ii;ot,"'  remarked  La  Corne  St.  Luc  to  an  Acadian  officer 
sealed  next  him.  "  IJigot  kept  the  King's  treasure,  and 
defrauded  the  soldiers  of  their  pay  :  hence  the  mutiny  and 
the  fail  of  Louisbourg." 

••  It  is  what  the  whole  army  knows,"  replied  the  officer. 
••  IJul  hark  !  the  Abbe  Piquet  is  going  to  speak.  It  is  a  new 
thiiiu  to  see  clergy  in  a  Council  of  War !  " 

"No  one  has  a  better  right  to  speak  here  than  the  Abbe 
ri(|iul,"  replied  La  (!orne.  "No  one  has  sent  more  Indian 
.lilies  into  the  field  to  fight  for  New  I'lance  than  the  patriotic 
Ai.hc."' 

OliiL-r  officers  did  not  share  the  generous  sentiments  of 
I,a  Corne  St.  Luc.  They  thought  it  derogatory  to  pure  mili- 
Liiv  men  to  listen  to  a  priest  on  the  affairs  of  tlie  war. 

••The  Marshal  de  15elleisle  would  not  permit  even  Car- 
dinal de  I'leury  to  put  his  red  stockings  beneath  his  council- 
lable,"  remarked  a  strict  martinet  of  La  Serre ;  "  and  here 
we  have  a  whole  llock  of  black  gowns  darkening  our  regi- 
mentals !     What  would  Voltaire  say  ?  " 

"  lie  would  say  that  when  priests  turn  soldiers  it  is  time. 
for  siddicrs  to  turn  tinkers  and  mend  holes  in  pots,  instead 
of  making  holes  in  our  enemies,"  replied  his  companion,  a 
fashionable  freethinker  of  the  day. 

"Well,  I  am  ready  to  turn  pedlar  any  day  !  The  King's 
army  will  go  to  the  dogs  fast  enough  since  the  (lovernor 
commissions  Recollets  and  Jesuits  to  act  as  royal  officers," 
was  the  petuliint  remark  of  another  officer  of  La  Serre. 

A  strong  prejudice  existed  in  the  army  against  the  Abbe' 
Pi(|uet  tor  his  o[)position  to  the  presence  of  French  troops  in 
his  Indian  inissionarv  villages.  'Lhev  demoralized  his  neo- 
phytes,  and  many  of  the  officers  shared  in  the  lucrative 
trallic  of  fire-water  to  the  Indians.  The  Abl^e  svas  zealous 
in  stopping  those  abuses,  and  the  ofliceis  complained  bitterly 
uf  hi.s  over-protection  of  the  Indians. 

The  famous  "  King's  Missionary,"  as  he  was  called,  stood 
up  with  an  air  of  di'j;nit\'  and  authoritv  th;)t  scenK^d  to  assert 
nis  nglit  to  be  present  in  the  Council  of  War,  for  the  scornful 


148 


THE  G(H-i)K\   nor,. 


looks  of   many  of  the  officers  had  not  escaped  his  c|uick 
glance. 

The  keen  black  eyes,  thin  resolute  lips,  and  high  svvaithv 
forehead  of  the  Abbe  would  have  well  become  the  jilumid 
hat  of  a  marshal  of  France.  Mis  loose  black  robe,  ]o()\m\ 
up  for  freedom,  reminded  (jne  of  a  grave  senator  of  \'t.'nict.' 
whose  eye  never  quailed  at  any  policy,  however  se\ere.  it 
recpiired  for  the  safety  of  the  State. 

The  Abbe  held  in  his  hand  a  large  roll  of  wampum,  the 
tokens  of  treaties  made  by  him  with  the  Indian  nations  oi 
the  West,  pledging  their  alliance  and  aid  to  the  great  Onon- 
tio.  as  they  called  the  Governor  of  New  l''rance. 

"My  Lord  Governor!"  said  tlie  Al)bc,  placing  his  gic.it 
roll  on  the  table,  "  1  thank  you  for  admitting  the  missionaries 
to  the  Council.  We  appear  less  as  churchmen  on  this  occ;i 
sion  than  as  the  King's  ambassadors,  although  1  trust  ihi; 
all  we  have  done  will  redound  to  God's  glory  and  the  si)rc,ul 
of  religion  among  the  heathen.  These  belts  of  wampum  aiv 
tokens  of  the  treaties  we  ha\e  made  with  the  numerous  and 
warlike  tribes  of  the  great  West,  I  bear  to  the  (iovcinnr 
pledges  of  alliance  from  the  Miamis  and  Shawnees  of  tlu 
great  valley  of  the  Belle  Riviere,  which  they  call  the  ( )lii(' 
I  am  commissioned  to  tell  Onontio  that  they  are  at  pcau 
with  the  King  and  at  war  with  his  enemies  from  this  tiim- 
forth  forever.  I  have  set  up  the  arms  of  France  on  the 
banks  of  the  Belle  Riviere,  and  claimed  all  its  lands  and 
waters  as  the  just  appanage  of  our  sovereign,  from  the  Alk- 
ghanies  to  the  plantations  of  Louisiana.  The  Sacs  and 
Foxes,  of  the  Mississippi ;  the  Pottawatomies,  Winnebagoo, 
and  Chippewas  of  a  hundred  bands  who  fish  in  the  great 
rivers  and  lakes  of  the  West ;  the  warlike  ( )ttawas,  who  havt 
carried  the  Algonquin  tongue  to  the  banks  of  Lake  Fric. 
in  short,  all  enemies  of  the  Iroquois  have  pledged  themsclvt- 
to  take  the  field  whenever  the  Go\-ernor  shall  require  the 
axe  to  be  dug  up  and  lifted  against  the  Fnglish  and  the 
FMve  Nations.  Next  summer  the  chiefs  of  all  these  uibe> 
will  come  to  (Quebec,  and  ratify  in  a  solemn  (rcneral  Coun- 
cil the  wampums  they  now  send  by  me  and  the  other  mis- 
sionaries, my  brothers  in  the  Lord!  " 

The  Abbe',  with  the  slow,  formal  manner  of  one  Ions; 
accustomed  to  the  speech  and  usages  of  the   Indians,  iin- 


arit.'s  Iku'c  won 


llll".    COLXCIL    OF    WAR. 


149 


rolled  the  belts  of  wampum,  many  fathoms  in  leni^th,  fastened 
likI  lu  entl  to  indicate  the  length  of  the  alliance  of  the 
viirious  tribes  with  Fiance.  The  Abbe  interpreted  their 
meanini;,  and  with  his  iini^er  pointed  out  the  totems  or  signs 
manual  —  usually  a  bird,  beast,  or  tish  —  of  the  chiefs  wiio 
had  slimmed  the  roll. 

The  Council  looked  at  the  wampums  with  intense  interest, 
well  knowing  the  important  part  these  Indians  were  capable 
of  a^sunling  in  the  war  with  England. 

••  riit'se  are  great  and  welcome  j^ledges  you  bring  us, 
Ahhe."  said  the  Governor;  "they  are  proofs  at  once  of 
vour  ability  and  of  vour  zealous  labors  for  the  King.  A 
Ljreal  public  duty  has  been  ably  disciiarged  by  you  and  your 
k-How-inissionaries,  whose  loyalty  and  devotion  to  h'rance  it 
-ihall  be  my  pleasure  to  lay  before  His  Majesty.  The  Star 
of  ih)pe  glitters  in  the  western  horizon,  to  encourage  us 
under  the  clouds  of  the  eastern.  Even  the  loss  of  Acadia, 
should  it  be  iinal,  will  be  compensated  by  the  acquisition 
uf  the  l.toundless  fertile  territories  of  the  Ikdle  Riviere  and 
of  the  Illinois.  The  Abbe  Piquet  and  his  fellow-mission- 
arifs  ha\e  won  the  hearts  of  the  native  tribes  of  the  West. 
liicie  is  hope  now,  at  last,  of  uniting  New  l'"rance  with 
Louisiana  in  one  unbroken  chain  of  French  territory. 

'•  k  has  been  my  ambition,  since  His  Majesty  honored 
me  with  the  Government  of  New  France,  to  acquire  posses- 
sion of  those  vast  territories  covered  with  forests  old  as 
time,  and  in  soil  rich  and  fertile  as  Provence  and  Nor- 
iiuuhIv. 

••  i  have  served  the  King  all  my  life,"  continued  the  (iov- 
ornor,  ''and  served  him  with  honor  and  even  distinction, — 
permit  me  to  say  this  much  of  myself." 

He  spoke  in  a  frank,  manly  way,  for  vanity  prompted  no 
I'art  of  his  speech.  "  Many  great  services  have  i  rendered 
my  country,  but  I  feel  that  the  greatest  service  1  could  yet 
(l(j  Old  France  or  New  would  be  the  planting  of  ten  thou- 
sand sturdy  peasants  and  artisans  of  l-'rance  in  the  valley  of 
the  far  West,  to  make  its  forests  vocal  with  the  speech 
of  our  native  land. 

"This  present  war  may  end  suddenly,  —  I  think  it  will: 
the  late  victory  at  Lawfelt  has  stricken  the  allies  under  the 
iHike  of  Cumberland  a  blow  hard  as  Fontenoy.     Rumors 


15^ 


THE    CJOLDEX    DOG. 


of  renewed  negotiations  for  peace  are  flying  thick  tiiioiif'h 
FAUope.  God  speed  the  peacemakers,  and  bless  tiiein.  I 
say  !  With  peace  conies  opportunity.  Then,  if  ever,  if 
l""rance  be  true  to  herself  and  to  her  heritage  in  the  New 
World,  siie  will  peo]3le  the  valley  of  the  Ohio  and  secure 
forever  her  supremacy  in  America! 

"But  our  forts  far  and  near  must  ])e  preserved  in  ilic 
meantime.  We  must  not  withdraw  from  one  foot  of  1'  iciuh 
territory.  Quebec  must  be  walled,  and  made  safe  agaiib; 
ail  attack  by  land  or  water.  1  therefore  will  join  the  Coun- 
cil in  a  respectful  remonstrance  to  the  Count  de  Maurep.b, 
against  the  inopportune  despatches  just  received  from  lli> 
Majesty.  1  trust  the  Royal  Intendant  will  favor  the  (  oni;- 
cil  now  with  his  opinion  nn  :his  important  "latter,  and  I 
shall  be  happy  to  have  the  cooperation  of  His  Kxcellencv  in 
measures  of  such  vital  consequence  to  the  Colony  and  lu 
France." 

The  Governor  sat  down,  aftei  courteously  motioning  ll^ 
Iiitendant  to  ris  ;  and  address  the  Council. 

The  Intendant  hated  the  mention  of  peace.  His  inter- 
ests, and  the  interests  of  his  associates  of  the  Grand  Com- 
pan3^  were  all  involved  in  the  prolongation  of  the  war. 

War  enabled  the  (irand  Com])any  to  monopolize  the 
trade  and  military  exj)enditure  of  New  France.  The  eiUM 
nious  fortunes  its  members  made,  and  spent  with  such  reci<- 
less  prodigality,  would  by  peace  be  dried  up  in  their  sonrce; 
the  yoke  would  be  thrown  off  the  people's  neck,  trade  would 
aiiain  free. 


P)iu;ot  was  far-sighted   enough  to  see  that  clamors 


WOUlil 


be  raised  and  listened  to  in  the  leisure  of  peace.  Prnscdi- 
tions  for  illegal  exactions  n;ight  follow,  and  all  the  support 
of  his  friends  at  Court  might  not  be  able  to  save  hini  and 
his  associates  from  ruin       perhaps  punishment. 

'J'he  i)arliaments  of  Paris,  Rouen,  and  lirittany  still  rr 
tained  a  shadow  of  independence.  It  was  only  a  shadow, 
but  the  fury  of  Jansenism  supplied  the  lack  of  polilial 
courage,  and  men  opposeil  the  Court  and  its  policy  under 
pretei.ce  of  defending  the  rights  of  the  (iallican  C'hurcii  luul 
the  old  religion  of  the  nation. 

]5igot  knew  he  was  safe  so  long  as  the  Mar(|uisc  de 
Pompadour    governed    the    King    and    liie    kingdom.      Hut 


would  be  drarrj 


THE    COUNCIL    OF    WAR, 


151 


Louis  XV.  was  capricious  and  unfaithful  in  his  fancies ;  he 
IkuI  chan*;ed  his  mistresses,  and  his  policy  with  them,  many 
times,  and  might  change  once  more,  to  the  ruin  of  Bigot 
iind  all  the  dependents  of  La  Pompadour, 

Ui^^oi's  letters  by  the  Ficur-iic-Lis  were  calculated  to 
alarm  him.  A  rival  was  springing  up  at  Court  to  challenge 
La  I'onipadour's  supremacy  :  the  fair  and  fragile  Lange 
\aubernier  had  already  attracted  the  King's  eye,  and  the 
((nirticrs  versed  in  his  ways  read  the  incipient  signs  of  a 
tuturc  favorite. 

Little  did  the  laughing  Vaubernier  forsee  the  day  when, 
a-  Madame  du  Darry,  she  would  reign  as  Dame  du  Pal- 
ais, after  the  death  of  La  Pompadour,  Still  less  could 
she  imagine  that  in  her  old  age,  in  the  next  reign,  she 
would  be  dragged  to  the  guillotine,  filling  the  streets  of 
Paris  with  her  shrieks,  heard  above  the  bowlings  of  the 
mob  of  the  Revolution  :  "  Give  me  life  !  life  !  for  my  re- 
pentance !  Life!  to  devo'e  it  to  the  Republic!  Life!  for 
the  surrender  of  all  my  wealth  to  the  nation!"  And  death, 
not  life,  was  given  in  answer  to  her  passionate  pleadings. 

These  dark  days  were  yet  in  the  womb  of  the  future, 
lu)\ve\er.  The  giddy  Vaubernier  was  at  this  time  gaily 
catching  at  the  heart  of  the  Iving,  but  her  procedure  tilled 
the  uiind  of  Bigot  with  anxiety  :  the  fall  of  La  Pompadour 
would  entail  swift  ruin  upon  himself  and  associates.  Me 
knew  it  was  the  intrigues  of  this  girl  which  had  caused  La 
Tompadour  suddenly  to  declare  for  peace  in  order  to  watch 
the  King  more  surely  in  his  jjalace.  'I'herefore  the  word 
])t'acc  and  the  name  of  Vaubernier  were  equally  odious  to 
Hi:j;ol,  and  he  was  perplexed  in  no  small  degree  how  to 
act. 

Moreover,  be  it  confes.sed  that,  although  a  bad  man  and 
ii  corrunt  statesman,  Bigot  was  a  I'Venchman,  proud  of  the 
"atidual  success  and  glory.  While  robbing  her  treasures 
vith  one  hand,  he  was  ready  with  his  sword  in  the  other  to 
risk  life  and  all  in  her  defence.  Bigot  was  bitterly  op- 
posed to  Iviglish  supremacy  in  North  America,  'i'he  loss 
it  Louisbourg,  though  niuch  his  fault,  stung  him  to  t'le 
flick,  as  a  triumi)h  of  the  national  enem\' ;  and  in  those 
litial  days  of  New  France,  after  the  fall  of  Montcalm,  Bigot 
was  ihr  last   nian   to  vield,  aiul  when   all   others  counselled 


152 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


retreat,  he  would  not  consent  to  the  surrender  of  Quehecto 
the  Knglish. 

To-day,  in  the  Council  of  War,  IlijTot  stood  uj)  to  re.  pond 
to  the  appeal  of  the  Governor.  He  j^lanced  his  eye  couliv, 
yet  respectfully,  over  the  Council.  His  raised  hand  si)arkk(l 
with  gems,  the  gifts  of  courtiv:;rs  and  favorites  of  the  Kin;', 
"  (lentlemen  of  the  Council  of  War  !  "  said  he,  "  1  approve 
with  all  my  heart  of  the  words  of  His  l-'xcellency  the  (lov- 
ernor,  with  reference  to  our  fortifications  and  t!ie  uuiiiik- 
nance  of  our  frontiers.  It  is  our  duty  to  renionstrale,  ;i> 
councillors  of  the  King  in  the  Colony,  against  the  tenor  ot  the 
despatches  of  the  Count  de  Mau-repas.  The  city  of  (^)ucba. 
properly  fortified,  will  be  equi\'alent  to  an  army  of  men  in 
the  field,  and  the  security  and  defence  of  the  whole  Colunv 
depends  upon  its  walls.  There  can  be  but  one  intelli^cii; 
opinion  in  the  Council  on  that  point,  and  tiiat  opiniun 
should  be  laid  before  His  Majesty  before  this  despalcli  jjc 
acted  on. 

"The  pressure  of  the  war  is  great  upon  us  just  now, 
The  loss  of  the  lleet  of  the  Marc[uis  de  la  Joncpiiere  ha- 
greatly  interrupted  our  connnunications  with  France,  an- 
Canada  is  left  much  to  its  own  resources.  IJut  l''renchmcir 
the  greater  the  peril  the  greater  the  glory  of  our  defciicr 
And  1  feel  a  lively  confidence,"  —  IJigot  glanced  pioudlv 
round  the  table  at  the  brave,  animated  faces  that  turnai 
towards  him, —  *'  I  feel  a  lively  confidence  that  in  the  skii!, 
devotion,  and  gallantry  of  the  officers  I  see  around  llii> 
council-table,  we  shall  be  able  to  rei)el  all  our  enemies,  aiiii 
bear  the  royal  fiag  to  fresh  triumi:)hs  in  Nortii  America." 

This  timely  liattery  was  not  lost  upon  the  susceptiMc 
minds  of  the  oflicers  present,  who  testified  their  api)ru\al 
by  vigorous  tapping  on  the  table,  and  cries  of  "Well  said, 
Chevalier  Inlendant  1  " 

"  I  thank,  heartily,  the  venerable  Ab1)e  i'iquet,"  contimial 
he,  '•  for  his  glorious  success  in  converting  the  warliki,'  .sav- 
ages of  the  West  from  foes  to  fast  friends  of  the  Kiiii:: 
and  as  Royal  Intendant  I  j^ledge  the  .Abbe  all  my  ln'lp  in 
the  estal)lishment  of  his  proposed  fort  and  mission  at  La 
Presentation,  for  the  puri)ose  of  dividing  the  power  ot  ili'' 
Irotptois." 

•'That  is  right  well  said,  if  liie  Devil  said  it!"  remarked 


TIIK    COUXCIL    OF    WAR. 


153 


l-\  Corne  St.  Luc,  to  the  Acadian  sitting  next  him.  "  There 
IS,  hell-metal  in  JJigot.  and  he  ring.s  well  if  properly  struck. 
pitv  so  clever  a  feiiow  should  be  a  knave  !" 

••  Fine  words  butter  no  parsnips.  Chevalier  La  Corne," 
repliccl  the  Acaclian,  whom  no  eloquence  could  soften. 
•lli^oi  sold  Louisl)ourg !  "  This  was  a  common  but  erro- 
neous opinion  in  Acadia. 

"  liigoi  butters  his  own  jxirsnips  well,  Colonel,"  replied 
l,;i  Come  St.  Luc ;  "  but  I  did  not  think  he  would  have  gone 
ai;;iin.si  the  despatches!  It  is  the  hrst  time  he  ever  opposed 
Versailles !  There  must  be  something  in  the  wind  !  A 
screw  loose  somewhere,  or  another  woman  in  the  case  ! 
lint  hark,  he  is  going  on  again  !  " 

The  Intendant,  after  examining  some  papers,  entered 
into  a  (lelail  of  the  resources  of  the  Colony,  the  number  of 
men  capal)le  of  bearing  arms,  the  munitions  and  material  jf 
war  in  the  magazines,  and  the  relative  strength  of  each  dis- 
irict  of  the  Province.  IT;  mani])ulated  his  figures  with  the 
di-xterily  of  an  Indian  juggler  throwing  balls;  and  at  the 
end  brought  out  a  totality  of  force  in  the  Colony  capable 
iniaidt'd  of  prolonging  the  war  for  two  years,  against  all 
lilt'  powers  of  the  Knglish. 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  speech  IJigot  took  his  seat. 
lie  had  made  a  faxorable  impression  upon  the  Council,  and 
even  his  most  strenuous  oj^ponents  admitted  that  on  the 
whole  the  Intendant  hatl  spoken  like  an  able  administrator 
.uid  a  true  Frenchman. 

Cadet  and  Varin  supported  their  chief  warmly.  Had 
!>  du'v  were,  both  in  jirivate  life  and  public  conduct,  they 
l.ii  ked  neither  shrewdness  nor  courage.  They  plundered 
ilieir  country  —  but  were  ready  to  light  for  it  against  the 
n.ilional  enemv. 

Other  ollicers  followed  in  succession,  — men  whose  names 
'Aere  already  familiar,  or  destined  to  become  glorious  in 
New  hrance, —  La  Corne,  vSt.  Luc,  ( 'ideron  de  llien\"ille, 
I'oloiiel  I'hilibert,  the  Chevalier  de  Heaujeu,  the  De  X'illiers, 
Ledardeur  de  St.  I'ierre,  and  1  )e  Lery.  One  and  all  sup- 
ported that  view  of  the  despatches  taken  by  tlie  (Jovernor 
>ui(l  the;  Intendant.  All  agreed  ujion  the  necessity  of  com- 
plt;Uiig  the  walls  of  Quebec  and  of  making  a  determined 
^t;iiid  at  every  point  of  the  frontier  against  the  threatened 


154 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


invasion.  In  case  cf  the  sudden  patching  up  of  a  peace  bv 
the  negotiators  at  i^^ix  La  Chapelle  -as  really  happened- 
on  the  terms  of  uti  possidetis^  it  was  of  vital  importance  tlia; 
New  France  hold  fast  to  every  shred  of  her  territor\-,  Ijuth 
East  and  West. 

I^ong  and  earnest  were  the  deliberations  of  the  Coiuicii 
of  V\'ar.  The  reports  of  the  commanding  officers  from  ai, 
points  of  the  frontier  were  carefully  studied.  Plans  oi 
present  defence  and  future  concpiest  were  discussed  with 
reference  to  the  strength  and  weakness  of  the  Colon \.  and 
an  accurate  knowledge  of  the  forces  and  designs  oi  ilk 
English  obtained  from  the  disaffected  remrnnt  of  C'roiii- 
wellian  republicans  in  New  England,  whose  iiatred  to  the 
Crown  ever  outweighed  their  loyalty,  and  who  kept  up  ^ 
traitorous  correspondence,  for  purposes  of  their  own,  with 
the  governors  of  New  France. 

The  lamps  were  lit  and  burned  far  into  the  night  whun 
the  Council  broke  up.  The  most  part  of  the  officers  par 
took  of  a  cheerful  refreshment  with  the  Governor  hcfnic 
they  retired  to  their  several  quarters.  Only  Jiigot  and  his 
friends  declined  to  sup  with  the  Covernor :  they  took  a 
polite  leave,  and  rode  away  from  the  Chateau  to  the  Pahcc 
of  the  Tntendant,  where  a  more  gorgeous  repast  and  more 
congenial  company  awaited  them. 

The  wine  flowed  freely  at  the  Intendant's  table,  and 
as  the  irritating  e\ents  of  the  day  were  recalled  to  memory, 
the  pent-u|)  wrath  of  the  Intendant  broke  forth.  "Damn 
the  Ciolden  Dog  and  his  master  both!"  exclaimed  he. 
"  IMiilibert  shall  pay  with  his  life  for  the  outrage  of  today, 
or  1  will  lose  mine !  'Fhe  dirt  is  not  off  my  coat  yet, 
Cadet  !  "  said  he,  as  he  pointed  to  a  spatter  of  mud  \\\v\\ 
his  breast.  "A  pretty  medal  that  for  the  Intendant  to  wtir 
in  a  Council  of  War  !  " 

"  Council  of  War  !  "  replied  Cadet,  setting  his  goblet  down 
with  a  bang  upon  the  polished  table,  after  draining  it  to  tin 
bottom.  "  I  would  like  to  go  through  that  mob  again  1  and 
J  would  pull  an  oar  in  the  galleys  of  Marseilles  rather  thai: 
be  quest icjned  with  that  air  of  authority  by  a  botani/in;: 
quack  like  [.a  (lalissoniere  !  Such  villainous  questions  a^ 
he  asked  me  al)()Ut  the  state  of  the  royal  magazines!  ba  tl.i 
lissonicie   had  more    the  air  of  a  judge  cross-examining  >' 


THE    COUNCIL    OF    WAR. 


155 


culprit  tlian  of  a  Governor  asking  information  of  a  king's 
oiiiccr ! 

"  Truf,  Cadet!"  replied  Varin,  who  was  always  a  flatterer, 
;uul  who  at  last  saved  his  ill-gotten  wealth  by  the  surrender 
(,f  his  wife  as  a  love-gift  to  the  Due  de  Choiseul.  "We  all 
have  our  own  injuries  to  bear.  The  Intendant  was  just 
sliowing  us  the  spot  of  dirt  cast  upon  him  by  the  mob  ;  and 
1  ask  what  satisfaction  he  has  asked  in  the  Council  for  the 
insult." 

"Ask  satisfaction!"  replied  Cadet  with  a  laugh.  "Let 
him  take  it !  Satisfaction  !  We  will  all  help  him  !  ikit  1 
sav  tiK'it  the  hair  of  the  dog  that  bit  him  will  .ilone  cure  the 
bite!  What  I  laughed  at  the  most  was  this  morning  at  iieau- 
inauoir.  to  see  how  coolly  that  whelp  of  the  (iolden  Dog, 
Vduni;  I'hilibert,  walked  off  with  De  Repentigny  from  the 
veiv  midst  of  all  the  Crand  Company!" 

"We  shall  lose  our  young  neophyte,  I  doubt,  C'adet!  I 
was  a  fool  to  let  him  go  with  Philibert !  "  remarked  I»igot. 

"Oh,  i  am  not  afraid  of  losing  him,  we  hold  him  l)y  a 
stron,:;  triple  cord,  spun  by  the  Devil.  No  fear  of  losing 
him!"     answered  Cadet,  grinning  good-l\umoredh'. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Cadet?"  The  Intendant  took  up 
his  cup  and  drank  very  nonchalantly,  as  if  he  thought  little 
mjI  ('ailcl's  view  of  the  matter.  "What  triple  cord  binds  i)e 
Repentigny  to  us  ?  " 

'•lli->  love  of  wine,  his  love  of  gan.ing,  and  his  love  of 
Iwomeii  -or  rather  his  love  of  a  woman,  which  is  the  strong- 
|t^t  strand  in  the  string  for  a  young  fool  like  him  who  is 
lalwavs  chasing  \'irtue  and  hugging  vice  !" 

"Oh!  a  woman  has  got  him!  eh.  Cadet?     Pray  who   is 

hhe?     When  once  a  woman  catches  a  fellow  by  tin:  gills,  he 

i>  a  (lead  mackerel  :   his  fate  is  hxed  for  good  or  bad  in  tiiis 

Iwiiiid.      lUit   who    is    she,   ('adet  ?       she   nuist    be    a    clever 

|one,"  said  IJigot,  senlentiously. 

"So  she  is!  and  she  is  loo  clevt'r  for  young  De  Repen- 
jli::ny;  she  has  got  hci"  prc.'tty  fmgors  in  his  gills,  and  can 
Icany  lier  lish  to  whatever  market  she  chooses  !" 

"('aiK'l!   Cadet!    out   with    it!"  ii'peal(Hl  a  dozen  voices. 

"  Ves,  out  with  it!"  rt-peated  iJigcil.  "We  are  all  compan- 
'•ll^  under  tlie  rose,  and  there  are  no  secrets  here  about  wine 
lor  women  !  " 


156 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


Digo: 


fallen  in  love  with  that  girl,  he  is  ours  forever  ! 

des  Meloises  never  lets  go  her  ox  until  she  offers  him 


"  Well,  I  would  not  give  a  filbert  for  all  the  women  horr 
since  mother  Eve  !  "  said  (.'adet,  flinging  a  nut-shell  at  ihe 
ceiling.  *'  Hut  this  is  a  rare  one,  I  must  confess.  Now  stop: 
Don't  cry  (uit  again  '  Cadet  !  out  with  it!'  and  I  will  tcii 
you  !  What  think  you  of  the  fair,  jolly  Mademoiselle  d-; 
Meloises  ?  " 

"  Angelique  ?    Is  ])e  Repentigny  in  love  with  her? 
looked  quite  interested  now. 

"  In  love  with  her.''  He  would  go  on  all  fours  after  her.ii 
she  wanted  him  !     He  does  almost,  as  it  is." 

IJigot  placed  a  finger  on  his  brow  and  pondered  fur  a 
moment.     ''  Vou    say  well,  Cadet ;    if    I)e    Repentignv  hh 

Angelique 
Uj)  ;b 

a  burnt  offering  !  The  Iloiuietrs  Gcus  will  lose  one  of  the 
best  trout  in  their  stream  if  Ange'lique  has  the  tickliiiL;  o! 
him  !  " 

Uigot  did  not  seem  to  be  quite  pleased  with  Cadet's  infor- 
mation. He  rose  from  his  seat  somewhat  flushed  and 
excited  by  this  talk  respecting  Angelique  des  Meloises 
He  walked  up  and  down  the  room  a  few  turns,  recoverd 
his  composure,  and  sat  down  again. 

"Come,  gentlemen,"  said  he;  "too  much  care  will  kilLi 
cat !  Let  us  change  our  talk  to  a  merrier  tune  ;  fill  np.  and 
we  will  drink  tt)  the  loves  of  l)e  Repentigny  and  the  fait 
Angelique  !  I  am  much  mistaken  if  we  do  not  find  in  licf 
tile  lira  c\  f/iat/iina  to  help  us  out  of  our  trouble  with  the 
Jloinictcs  Gens!'' 

The  glasses  were  filled  and  emptied.  C^ards  and  dice 
were  then  called  for.  The  company  drew  their  chairs  in!' 
a  closer  circle  round  the  table ;  deep  i^lay,  and  deept  r  drinl( 
ing.  set  in.  The  I'alais  resounded  with  revelry  until  the 
morning  sun  looked  into  the  great  window,  lilushini;  red  ,uj 
the  scene  of  drunken  riot  that  had  become  habitual  in  the| 
Palace  of  the  Intendant. 


Muiie !     Woe  is 


CHAPTER   XV. 


THE    CHARMING    JOSEPHINE. 


THE  few  words  of  sympathy  dropped  by  Bio;ot  in  the 
secret  chamber  had  fallen  like  manna  on  the  famine 
(.f  Caroline's  starvinii;  affections  as  she  remained  on  the  sofa, 
wiieic  she  had  half  fallen.,  pressing  her  bosom  with  her  hands 
AS  if  a  new-born  thought  lay  there,  "  1  am  sure  he  meant 
ii!"  repeated  she  to  herself.  "I  feel  that  his  words  were 
true,  and  for  the  moment  his  look  and  tone  were  those  of  my 
luippy  maiden  days  in  Acadia  !  1  was  too  proud  then  of  my 
fancied  power,  and  thought  l>igot's  love  deserved  the  sur- 
leiidcr  of  my  very  conscience  to  his  keeping.  I  forgot  (lod 
ill  my  l(we  for  him  ;  and,  alas  for  me !  that  now  is  part  of 
iiiv  punishment !  I  feel  not  the  sin  of  loving  him  !  My 
ixnilence  is  not  sincere  when  1  can  still  rejoice  in  his 
smile  I  Woe  is  me!  iiigot!  Digot !  unworthy  as  thou  art, 
1  cannot  forsake  thee  !  1  would  willingly  die  at  thy  feet, 
only  si^urn  me  not  away,  nor  give  to  another  the  love  that 
l).'l()nLi;s  to  me,  and  for  which  I  have  paid  the  price  of  my 
immortal  soul  1  " 

She  relapsed  into  a  train  of  bitter  reflections  as  her 
thoughts  reverted  to  herself.  Silence  had  been  gradually 
creeping  through  the  house.  The  noisy  debauch  was  at  an 
end.  There  were  trampings,  voices,  and  footfalls  for  a  while 
:iin;ier.  and  then  they  died  away.  Everything  was  still  and 
>ilcnt  as  the  grave.  She  knew  the  feast  was  over  and  the 
^uest.s  departed;  but  not  whether  iiigot  had  accompanied 
tiieni. 

She  sprang  up  as  a  low  knock  came  to  her  door,  thinking 
it  was  he,  come  to  bid  her  adieu.  It  was  with  a  feeling  of 
disappointment  she  heard  the  voice  of  Dame  Tremblay  say- 
in^'.  "My  Lady,  may  1  enter?" 

Caroline   ran    her    lingers    through    her    disordered    hair, 

'57 


158 


TllL    (.Ol.DI.N     DOC. 


pressed  her  handkerchief  into  her  eyes,  and  hastily  hk^ 
to  oljliterate  every  trace  of  her  recent  a^ony.  ISiu'  Dariv 
her  enter. 

Dame  Treniblay,  shrewd  as  became  the  whilom  C  haririin:; 
Josephine  of  Lake  iicauport,  had  a  kind  heart,  ncvertlides;, 
under  her  okl-fa.jhioned  bodice.  Siie  sincerely  pitied  ihi, 
young  creature  whr^  was  passing  her  days  in  prayer  :in;;  1^; 
nights  in  ,  ""pir.  ,  ilti  ough  s!;e  might  ratlier  blame  her  in 
seci  ••  lOY  ii'-.l  ,iii;ireciaiing  better  the  honor  of  a  residents 
at  IJeaum  no!:'   mu!    he  friendship  of  the  Intendant. 

"1  do  not  i;  aik  i-h'  is  prettier  than  I,  when  J  was  i!;e 
Charming  Josephine!  i.'iought  the  old  dame.  "1  did  m,! 
despise  JJeaumanoir  in  those  days,  and  why  should  she  iioa; 
Hut  she  will  be  neither  maid  nor  mistress  here  long,  I  aia 
thinking !  "  The  dame  saluted  the  young  lady  with  ^a at 
deference,  and  c[uietly  asked  if  she  needed  her  service. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  you,  good  dame  !  " —  Caroline  answered  her  own 
thoughts,  rather  than  the  tpiestion,  —  "  tell  me  what  iiiaJNO 
this  unusual  silence  in  the  Chateau.^" 

"The  Intendant  and  all  the  guests  have  gone  to  tlie  cilv, 
my  Lady  :  a  great  olticer  of  the  (io\ernor's  came  to  suinni'ia 
them.  To  be  sure,  not  many  of  them  were  fit  to  ^o.  ha: 
after  a  deal  of  bathing  and  dressing  the  gentlemen  goi  oti. 
Sucli  a  clatter  of  horsemen  as  they  rode  out,  1  ne\er  heard 
before,  my  Lady;  you  must  have  heard  them  even  here!" 

"Yes,  dame!''  replied  Caroline.  'I  heard  it;  and  tlic 
Intendant,  has  he  accompanied  them  ? " 

"  Yes,  my  Lady ;  the  freshest  and  foremost  ca\alier  oi 
them  all.  Wine  and  late  hours  never  hurt  the  Inkndani. 
It  is  for  that  I  praise  him,  for  he:  is  a  gallant  gentleman,  \dw 
knows  what  i^olitencss  is  to  woiuen." 

C'aroline  shrank  a  little  .it  the  thought  expressed  by  the 
dame.     "What  causes  you  to  say  that?"  asked  she. 

"I   will   tell,  my  Lady!    "J)ame  Tremblay  ! '  said  lie.  iii>' 
before  he  left  the  Chateau.     '  Dame  Tremblay '      he  al\vay> 
calls  me  that  when  he  is  formal,  but  sometimes  when  liei^l 
merry,  he  calls  me  'Charming  Josephine,'  in  remeiubrance 
of  my  young  days,  concerning  which  he  has  heard  llattcrin.'l 
stories,  1  dare  say   " 

"In  heaven's  name!  go  on,  dame  ! "    Caroline,  depressed  I 
as  she  was,  felt  the   dame's  garrulity  like  a  pinch  on  lii-M 


i'mc    CIIARMI\(i    J(  iSKl'lIIXK 


•59 


iinpalie.  ct;.     "  Wluil  said  the  Intendaul  to  you,  (>n  leaving 
thcCb'-au?" 

"Oh.  le  spoke  to  rre  of  you  quite  feelingly —  that  is, 
b.ulc  iiH'  take  the  utmost  care  of  the  poo  lady  in  the  secret 
chamlj  ■•  1  '"as  to  give  you  ever\  thing  you  wished,  and 
keept:'  all  visitors,  if  such  were  your  own  desire." 

A  '.i.iin  of  powder  dot  ,  not  catch  fire  from  a  spark  more 
qiiicklv  than  Caroline's  imagination  from  these  few  words  of 
the  old  housekeeper.  "  Did  he  say  that,  good  dame?  God 
hlcss  vou,  and  bless  him  for  those  words!"  Her  eyes  filled 
with  tears  at  the  thought  of  his  tenderness,  which,  although 
half  fictitious,  she  wholly  believed, 

••  Vcs,    dame,"  continued   she.     *'  It  is  my   most    earnest 
uoiie  to  be  secluded  from  all  visitors.      1    wish  to  see  no 
(inc  but  yourself.      Have  you  many  visitors  —  ladies,  1  mean 
-at  the  Chateau  ?  " 

'•Oh.  yes!  the  ladies  of  the  city  are  not  likely  to  forget 
the  invitations  to  the  balls  and  dinners  of  the  bachelo; 
IiileiHiant  of  New  France.  It  is  the  mo.st  fashionable  thing 
in  the  city,  and  every  lady  is  wild  to  attend  them.  There  is 
iiiiL',  the  liandsomest  and  gayest  of  them  all,  who,  they  say, 
wdukl  not  object  even  to  become  the  bride  of  the  Intendant." 

it  was  a  careless  shaft  of  the  old  dame's,  but  it  went  to 
the  heart  of  Caroline.  "  Who  is  she,  good  dame  ?  —  pray 
tell  me ! " 

"Oh,  my  Lady,  I  should  fear  her  anger,  if  she  knew  what 

say  !  She  is  the  most  terrible  coc[uette  in  the  city  —  wor- 
shipped by  the  men,  antl  hated,  of  course,  by  the  women, 
who  all  imitate  her  in  dress  and  style  as  much  as  they  pos- 
sibly can,  because  they  see  it  takes  !  Hut  every  woman  fears 
for  either  husband  or  lover  when  Angelique  des  Meloises  is 
her  rival.  " 

"Is  that  her  name?       I   never  heard  it  before,  dame!" 
remarked  Caroline,  with   a  shudder.      She  felt   instinctively 
I  that  the  name  was  one  of  direful  omen  to  herself. 

"Pray  God  you  may  never  have  reason  to  hear   it  again," 

replied    Dame  Tremblay.     "She    it    was  who   w^ent   to   the 

mansion    of    Sieur    Tourangeau    and    with    her    riding-wliij: 

I'lshcd  the    mark  of  a  red  cross    u})on  the  forehead  of   his 

khiughler,  Cecile,  scarring  her  forever,  because  she  had   [ue- 

!  Slimed  to  smile   kindly  upon   a   young   ollicer,  a   handsome 


^M 


i6o 


THE    (lOI.DF.N    noG. 


fellow,  T,e  Gardcur  de  Repenligny  —  whom  any  woman  mi^'ht 
be  pardoned  for  admirini;  !  "  added  the  old  dame,  with  a 
natural  touch  of  the  candor  of  her  youth.  "  If  Aiii;L'liq!.;t 
takes  a  fancy  to  the  Intendant,  it  will  be  dangerous  for  anv 
other  woman  to  stand  in  her  way  ! " 

Caroline  gave  a  frightened  look  at  the  dame's  description 
of  a  possible  rival  in  the  Intendant's  love.  "  \'ou  know 
more  of  her,  dame  !  Tell  me  all  !  Tell  me  the  worst  I  liavc 
to  learn  !  "  pleaded  the  poor  girl. 

"  IMie  worst,  my  Lady  !   1  fear  no  one  can  tell  the  warn  ot 
Angelique  des  Aleloises,  —  at  least,  would   not   dare  lo. 
although  I  know  nothing  bad  of  her,  except  thai  she  would 
like   to   have   all   the   men   to  herself,  and   so   spite  all  tjic 
women  ! " 

"  I5ut  she  must  regard  that  young  officer  with  more  than 
common  affection,  to  have  acted  so  savagely  to  Mademoi- 
selle Tourangeau  ?  "  Caroline,  with  a  woman's  quickni^. 
had  caught  at  that  gleam  of  hope  through  the  darkness. 

"Oh,  yes,  my  Lady  !  All  Quebec  knows  that  Angc']i(|i;e 
loves  the  Seigneur  de  Repentigny,  for  nothing  is  a  secret  in 
Quebec  if  more  than  one  person  knows  it,  as  I  myself  wcii 
recollect  ;  for  when  I  was  the  ('harming  Josephine,  ruy  vcn 
whispers  were  all  over  the  city  by  the  next  dinner  hour,  aiin 
repeated  at  every  table,  as  gentlemen  cracked  their  ainioini> 
and  drank  their  wine  in  toasts  to  the  Charming  Josepiiiiic' 

"  Pshaw  !  dame  !  Tell  me  about  the  Seigneur  de  Repen 
tigny  !  Does  Angelique  des  Meloises  love  him,  think  you; " 
Caroline's  eyes  were  fixed  like  stars  upon  the  dame,  awai;- 
ing  her  reply. 

"  It  takes  women  to  read  women,  they  say,"  replied  the 
dame,  "  and  every  lady  in  (Quebec  would  swear  that  .\iii;c- 
lique  loves  the  Seigneur  de  Kepentigny  ;  but  I  know  that,  if 
she  can,  she  will  marry  the  Intendant,  whom  she  has  fairly 
bewitched  with  her  wit  and  beauty,  and  you  know  a  clever 
woman  can  marry  any  man  she  pleases,  if  she  only  goe.stlit. 
right  way  about  it :   men  are  such  fools  !  " 

Caroline  grew  faint.     Cold  drops  gathered  on  her  brow, 
A  veil  of  nust  floated  before  here\es. 
water !  "  she  articulated,  after  .several  efforts. 

Dame  Treml)lav  ran,  and  got  her  a  drink  of  water  and 
such  restoratives  as  were  at  hand.     The  dame  was  profuse 


*'  Water  !  good  uaiiie: 


TUK    CHARMIXC.    JOSEPHINF 


iCu 


in  words  of  sympathy  :  she  had  gone  throujjjh  life  with  a 
li^jht,  lively  spirit,  as  became  the  C'harmins;  Josephine,  but 
never  lost  the  kindly  heart  that  was  natural  to  her. 

(  aroline  rallied  from  her  faintness.  "  Have  you  seen 
what  you  tell  nie,  dame,  or  is  it  but  the  idle  gossip  of  the 
citv.  no  truth  in  it  ?  Oh,  say  it  is  the  idle  gossip  of  the 
citv!  Kr.UKois  Bigot  is  not  going  to  marry  this  lady  ?  lie  is 
not  so  faithless" — to  me,  she  was  about  to  add,  but  did  not. 

••  So  faithless  to  her,  she  means,  poor  soul  ! "  soliliqui/ed 
ihe  dame.  "  It  is  but  little  you  know  my  gay  master  if  you 
iliink  he  values  a  promise  made  to  any  woman,  except  to 
deceive  her !  I  have  seen  too  many  birds  of  that  feather 
not  to  know  a  hawk,  from  beak  to  claw.  When  I  was  the 
Charming  Josephine  I  took  the  measure  of  men's  profes- 
sions, and  never  was  deceived  but  once.  Men's  promises 
are  big  as  clouds,  and  as  empty  and  as  unstable  !  " 

"My  good  dame,  I  am  sure  you  have  a  kind  heart,"  said 
("aroline,  in  reply  to  a  sympathizing  pressure  of  the  hand. 
"Hut  you  do  not  know,  you  cannot  imagine  what  injustice 
you  do  the  Intendant" — Caroline  hesitated  and  blushed  — 
"by  mentioning  the  report  of  his  marriage  with  that  lady. 
Men  speak  untruly  of  him — " 

"  My  dear  Lad}%  it  is  what  the  women  say  that  frightens 
one !  'I'he  men  are  angry,  and  won't  believe  it ;  but  the 
women  are  jealous,  and  will  believe  it  even  if  there  be  noth- 
inn;  in  it!  As  a  faithful  servant  I  ought  to  have  no  eyes 
to  watch  my  master,  but  I  have  not  failed  to  observe  that 
the  Chevalier  Bigot  is  caught  man-fashion,  if  not  husband- 
fashii)n,  in  the  snares  of  the  artful  Angeliciue.  But  may 
I  speak  my  real  opinion  to  you,  my  Lady  ?  " 

Caroline  was  eagerly  watching  the  lips  of  the  garrulous 
dame.  vShe  started,  brushed  back  with  a  stroke  of  her  hand 
ihe  thick  hair  that  had  fallen  over  her  ear, —  "Oh,  speak  all 
your  thoughts,  good  dame  !  If  your  next  words  were  to  kill 
me.  sjicak  them  !  " 

"  My  next  words  will  not  harm  you,  my  Lady,"  said  she, 
with  a  meaning  smile,  "  if  you  will  accept  the  opinion  of  an 
old  woman,  who  learned  the  wavs  of  men  wlien  she  was  the 
I  harming  Josephine  !  You  must  not  conclude  that  because 
t'le  Chevalier  Intendant  admires,  or  even  loves  Angeliqiie 
des  Meloises,  he  is  going  to  marry  her.     That  is  not  the 


I  62 


THK    Ci(;IJ)i:X     DOG. 


fashion  of  these  times.  Men  love  beauty,  and  marry  iiKm  v. 
love  is  more  plenty  than  matrimony,  l)oth  at  Paris  and  a- 
Quebec,  at  Versailles  as  well  as  at  Beaumanoir  or  even  at 
Lake  Beauport,  as  I  learned  to  my  cost  when  1  was  tii.. 
Charming  Josephine  ! " 

Caroline  blushed  crimson  at  the  remark  of  Dame  Tieni 
blay.  Her  voice  quivered  with  emotion.  '*  It  is  sin  tn 
cheapen  love  like  that,  dame  !  And  yet  I  know  wc  iia.c 
sometimes  to  bury  our  love  in  our  heart,  with  no  hope  hi 
resurrection." 

"Sometimes,''     Almost  always,  my   I^ady  !     When    I  \\.b 

the    Charming   Josephine nay,  listen.   Lady:  my  story  Is 

instructive."  Caroline  composed  herself  to  hear  the  cl;imt\ 
recital.  "  When  I  was  the  Charming  Josephine  of  Lake 
Beauport  I  began  by  believing  that  men  were  angels  ^en; 
for  the  salvation  of  us  women.  1  thought  that  love  was  a 
better  passport  than  money  to  lead  to  matrimony;  but  I  wa? 
a  fool  for  my  fancy !  I  had  a  good  score  of  lovers  any  (lav 
The  gallants  praised  my  beauty,  and  it  was  the  envy  of  ihu 
city  ;  they  flattered  me  for  my  wit, —  nay,  even  fought  dudb 
for  my  favor,  and  called  me  the  Charming  Josephine,  but 
not  one  offered  to  marry  me  !  At  twenty  I  ran  away  for 
love,  and  was  forsaken.  At  thirty  I  married  for  money,  and 
was  rid  of  all  my  illusions.  At  forty  I  came  as  housekeeper 
to  Beaumanoir,  and  have  lived  here  comfortably  ever  Miice 
I  know  what  royal  intendants  are !  Old  Hocquart  wore 
night-caps  in  the  daytime,  took  snuff  every  minute,  and 
jilted  a  lady  in  France  because  sir;  had  not  the  dower  of  a 
duchess  to  match  his  hoards  of  wealth  1  The  Chevalier 
Bigot's  black  eye  and  jolly  laugh  draw  after  hmi  all  the  girb 
of  the  city,  but  not  one  will  catch  him  !  Angelique  des 
Meloises  is  first  in  his  favor,  but  I  see  it  is  as  clear  as  prim 
in  the  eye  of  the  Intendant  that  he  will  never  marry  her  — 
and  you  wall  prevent  him,  my  Lady  !  " 

"  I  .''  I  prevent  him  !  "  exxlaimed  Caroline  in  amazement 
"  Alas  !  good  dame,  you  little  know  how  lighter  than  thistle- 
down floating  on  the  wind  is  my  influence  with  the  Intend- 
ant." 

"  You  do  yourself  injustice,  my  Lady.  Listen  !  I  never 
saw  a  more  pitying  glance  fall  from  the  eye  of  man  than  the 
Intendant  cast  upon  you  one  day  when  he  saw  you  kneel 


IHK    CII.\KMIX(;     loSKI'llINK 


163 


iiv^  in  vour  oratory  unconscious  of  liis  presence.  His  lips 
quivered,  and  a  tear  gathered  under  his  thick  eyelashes  as  he 
silently  withdrew.  I  heard  him  mutter  a  blessing  upon  you, 
and  curses  upon  La  Pompadour  for  coming  between  him  and 
his  heart's  desire,  i  was  a  faithful  servant  and  kept  my 
counsel.  I  could  see,  however,  that  ihe  Intendant  thought 
more  nf  the  lovely  lady  of  Heaumanoir  than  of  all  the  ambi- 
li, ms  demoiselles  of  (Quebec." 

Caroline  sprang  up,  and  casting  off  the  deep  reserve  she 
had  maintained,  threw  her  arms  round  the  neck  of  Dame 
Trenii)lay,  and  half  choked  with  emotion,  exclaimed, — 

"is  that  true?  good,  dear  friend  of  friends!  Did  the 
Chevalier  Bigot  bless  me,  and  curse  La  Pom])adour  for 
coining  between  him  and  his  heart's  desire!  His  heart's 
desire  I  but  you  do  not  know  —  you  cannot  guess  what  that 
means,  dame } " 

••  As  if  I  did  not  know  a  man's  heart's  desire  !  but  I  am 
.1  wniiian,  and  can  guess!  I  was  not  the  Charming  Jose- 
phine for  nothing,  good  Lady  !  "  replied  the  dame,  smiling, 
as  the  enraptured  girl  laid  her  fair,  smooth  cheek  upon  that 
of  the  old  housekeeper. 

"  And  did  he  look  so  pityingly  as  you  describe,  and  bless 
me  as  1  was  praying,  unwitting  of  his  presence  ?  "'  repeated 
she,  with  a  look  that  searched  the  dame  through  and 
.iirough. 

"lie  did,  my  Lady;  he  looked,  just  then,  as  a  man  looks 
upon  a  woman  whom  he  really  loves.  I  know  how  men  look 
when  they  really  love  us  and  when  they  only  pretend  to  ? 
No  deceiving  me  !  "  added  she.  ''  When  1  was  the  Charm- 
ing Josephine  —  " 

"-/rv  Afcrr/tT.'"  said  Caroline,  crossing  herself  with  deep 
devotion,  not  heeding  the  dame's  reminiscences  of  Lake 
Hoauport.  "  Heaven  las  heard  mv  prayers  !  I  can  die 
happy !  " 

■•llea\en  forbid  you  should  die  at  all,  my  1-ady!  ^'ou 
d;o?  '["he  Intendant  loves  you.  I  see  it  in  his  face  that 
lie  will  never  marry  Angelic[ue  des  Meloises.  He  may 
indeed  marry  a  great  marchioness  with  her  lap  full  of  gold 
and  chateaux  —  that  is,  if  the  King  conmiands  him:  that  is 
how  the  grand  gentlemen  of  the  Court  marry.  They  wed 
rank,   and    love    beauty  —  the    heart    to    one,    the   hand    to 


164 


TIIF.    (iOLUKX    nOC. 


anotlier.  It  would  l)e  my  way  too,  were  I  a  man  and 
women  so  siiiijile  as  we  all  are.  If  a  g,'\r\  cannot  many  hr 
love,  she  will  marry  for  money  ;  and  it  not  for  money,  she 
can  always  marry  for  spite  —  1  did,  when  1  was  the  Charm- 
ing Josephine  ! "' 

"  U  is  a  shocking  and  sinful  way,  lo  marry  without  love! 
said  Caroline,  warmly. 

"It  is  better  than  no  way  at  all!"  rejilied  the  (lanii, 
regretting  iier  remark  when  she  saw  her  lady's  face  flush  lil;i 
crimson.  The  dame's  ojiinions  were  rather  the  worse  iH: 
wear  in  her  long  joiu'ney  through  life,  and  would  iim  1-, 
adopted  by  a  jury  of  prudes.  "When  I  was  the  Chariniii, 
Josephine,"  continued  siie,  "  I  bad  the  lu\e  of  half  the  na! 
lants  of  (Quebec,  but  not  one  offered  his  hand.  What  \^a^l 
to  do?  'Crook  a  hnger,  or  love  and  linger,'  as  they  say  in 
Alenron,  where  I  was  born  ? " 

"  I'ie,  dame!  Don't  say  such  things!"  said  Caroline 
with  a  shamed,  reproving  look.  "  I  would  think  belln  ot 
the  Intendant."  Her  gratitude  led  her  to  imagine  e.\(  u>o 
for  Jiim.  The  few  words  reportefl  to  her  by  Dame  Tri.in- 
blay  she  repeated  with  silently  moving  lips  and  tender  n.'*,- 
eration.  They  lingered  in  her  ear  like  the  fugue  of  a  .strain 
of  music,  svnig  by  a  choir  of  angelic  spirits,  "Those  were 
his  very  words,  dame?"  added  she  again,  repeating  tlieiii  — 
not  for  inquiry,  but  for  secret  joy. 

"  His  very  words,  iny  Lady  !  lUit  why  should  tiie  Royal 
Intendant  not  ha\e  his  heart's  desire  as  well  as  thai  ^rcil 
lady  in  I'"rance  ?  If  any  one  had  forbidden  my  marryin;: 
the  poor  Sieur  Tremblay,  for  whom  I  did  not  care  two  pin>, 
I  would  have  had  him  for  si)ite  yes,  if  1  had  had  to  marry 
him  as  the  crows  do,  on  a  tree-top  !  " 

"  But  no  one  l)ade  you  or  forbade  you,  dame !  Vmi 
were  iiappy  that  no  one  came  between  you  and  your  hi;art> 
desire!"  replied  Caroline. 

Dame  Tremblay  laughed  out  merrily  at  the  idea.  "  To'ii 
(]iles  Tremblay  my  lieart's  desire!  Listen,  Lady,  I  cnulii 
no  more  get  that  than  you  could.  When  I  was  the  (  harm 
ing  Josephine  there  was  but  one,  out  of  all  my  adlllill-'l^ 
whom  I  reall)'  cared  for,  antl  he,  poor  fellow,  had  a  witc 
already  !  So  what  was  I  to  do?  i  threw  my  line  at  last  iii 
utter  despair,  and  out  of  the  troubleil  sea  1   drew  tlu'  Siiur 


THE    CHARMING    JOSEPHINE. 


165 


lovu 


J  Royal 

\1     .^IL'.U 

lanyin,:; 

wo  pin>, 

0  marry 

> !     Vdii 

1  heart's 

"  I'ddi 

1   ciiukl 

( 'harm- 

uliiiirer\ 

1    a  wiio 

il  la^l  in 

lir  Sicut 

Treniblay,  whom  I  married,  and  soon  put  cosily  underground 
with  a  heavy  tombstone  on  top  of  him  to  keep  iiim  down, 
\vith  this  inscription,  wiiich  you  may  see  for  yourself,  my 
Lady,  if  you  will,  in  the  churchyard  where  he  lies : 

"  '  Ci  git  111011  (ales, 
Ah  !   ([iril  est  hieii, 
I'our  soil  rcpos, 
Kt  pom  Itj  mien  !  ' 

"Men  are  like  my  Angora  tabby:  stroke  them  smoothly 
and  they  will  purr  and  rub  noses  with  you  ;  but  stroke  them 
the  wrong  way  and  whirr  !  they  scratch  your  hands  and  out 
of  the  window  they  lly  !     When  I  was  the  Ciiarming  —  " 

"Oh,  go(jd  dame,  thanks!  thanks!  for  the  comfort  you 
have  gi\en  me  !  "  interrupted  Caroline,  not  caring  for  a 
fre^L'h  reminiscence  of  the  Charming  Josephine.  •'  Leave 
inc.  I  piay.  My  mind  is  in  a  sad  tumult.  I  would  fain 
rcht.  1  luu'e  much  to  fear,  but  something  also  to  hope  for 
now,"  she  said,  leaning  back  in  lier  chair  in  deep  and  quiet 
ihought. 

"The  Chateau  is  very  still  now,  my  Lady,"  replied  the 
dame.  "  the  servants  are  all  worn  out  with  long  attendance 
and  fast  asleep.  Let  my  Lady  go  to  her  own  apartments, 
which  are  bright  and  airy.  It  will  be  better  for  her  than 
this  (lull  chamber." 

"True,  dame!"  ('aroline  rose  at  the  suggestion.  "I 
like  not  this  secret  chamber.  It  suited  my  sad  mood,  but 
iiuw  1  seem  to  hjng  for  air  and  sunshine.  1  will  go  with 
you  to  my  own  room," 

i'liey  ascended  the  winding  stair,  and  Caroline  stated 
herself  1)\'  the  window  of  her  own  chamber,  overlooking  the 
jjirk  and  gardens  of  the  Chateati.  The  huge,  sloping  forest 
updii  the  mounlain  side,  formed,  in  the  distance,  with  the 
Muj  sky  abo\e  it,  a  landscape  of  beauty,  upon  which  hei 
tyc.i  lingered  with  a  sense  of  freshness  and  delight. 

l)aiiu'  Tremblay  left  her  to  her  musings,  to  go,  she  said, 
'1  Miuse  up  the  la/y  maids  and   menservants,  [o  straighten 

1' tile  ((infusion  ol  everything  in  the  ( "hateau  after  the  late 
l"iiS  I'l-'ast. 

*>n  the  great  stair  she  encountered  ^f.  {''roumois,  the 
liUeM(l,mi"s  \alet,  a  faxorite  gossip  of  the  dame's,  who  used 


1 66 


THK    (lOf.DF.X     DOG 


lo  invite  him  into  her  snug  parlor,  where  she  regaleil  him 
with  tea  and  cake,  or,  if  hite  in  tlie  evening,  with  wine  and 
nip]3erkins  of  Cognac,  while  he  poured  into  her  ear  storii^ 
of  the  gay  life  of  Paris  and  the  hoiuics  forfitncs  of  liiiusc;} 
and  master — for  the  valet  in  plush  would  ha\e  disdaiind 
being  less  successful  among  the  maids  in  the  servants'  hail 
than  his  master  in  velvet  in  the  boudoirs  of  their  mislrcs^^,■^ 

M.  Froum(jis  accepted  the  dame's  invitation,  and  the  two 
were  presently  engaged  in  a  melee  (jf  gossij)  over  the  .sa\- 
ings  and  dcjings  of  fashionable  society  in  (Quebec. 

The  dame,  holding  l^etween  her  thumb  and  linger  a  liti'u 
china  cup  of  tea  well  laced,  she  called  it,  with  CogiiaL, 
remarked,-  "'I'hcy  fairly  run  the  Iniendant  down,  Imou 
mois  :  there  is  not  a  girl  in  the  city  but  laces  her  boots  ir 
distraction  since  it  came  out  tliat  the  Jntendant  admiics  , 
neat,  trim  ankle.  I  had  a  ti'im  ankle  myself  when  I  \\a> 
the  (harming  Josephine.  AI.  l'"roumois !  " 

"  And  you  ha\e  yet,  dame,  -  if  1  am  a  judge."  replicij 
Froumois,  glancing  down  with  an   air  of  gallantry. 

"And  you  are  accounted  a  judge —  and  ought  to  he  a 
good  one,  I'Youmois  !  A  gentleman  can't  li\i:  at  court  a^ 
you  have  done,  and  learn  nothing  of  the  points  of  a  \\\\ 
woman  1"  The  good  dame  liked  a  comjjliment  as  well  ;b 
ever  she  had  done  at  Lake  Heauport  in  her  hey-day  of  youui 
and  beauty. 

"Why,  no,  dame,"  rejilied  he;  "one  can't  live  at  ('niin 
and  learn  nothing!  We  slud\-  the  points  of  line  women  a-^ 
we  tlo  line  statuary  in  the  gallery  of  the  Louvre,  only  lln 
living  beauties  will  com|)el  us  to  see  their  best  points  if  tln' 
fiave  them!"  M.  l''roiunois  lotjki'd  x'ery  critical  as  I.,  took.i 
pinch  from  the  dame's  box,  which  slie  held  out  to  hiii, 
ilei"  hand  and  wrist  were  }et  unexceplional)le,  as  he  coiilii 
not  help  remai'king. 

"  Dut   what    think    you,  really,  of    our   (Quebec  l)eallli(.■^? 
Are   lhe\'  not    a  good    imilalion  of  ViM'sailles  .'' "    askcc 
dame. 

"  .\  good  imitation!  They  are  the  n-al  jiorcelain  ! 
beaut)  and  afiability  N'ersailles  cannot  exceed  them, 
says  the  lul-ndant,  and  so  say  I,"  replied  the  gay  v.ilc. 
"  Why,  look  you,  Dann'  Treutblay  !  "  continued  he,  exteiuli'i, 
his  well-ringed   lingers,  "they  do  give  geutlemer   no  end 


tlif 


THE    CHARMING    JOSKPHINE. 


167 


ii()])e.s  here  !  We  have  only  to  stretch  out  our  ten  digits  and 
1  l,ulyl)ird  will  light  on  every  one  of  then\ !  It  was  so  at 
Wisailles  —  it  is  just  so  here.  The  ladies  in  Quebec  do 
know  how  to  appreciate  a  real  gentleman  !  " 

•'  \'cs.  that  is  what  makes  the  ladies  of  Ville  Marie  so 
jealous  and  angry,''  replied  the  dame ;  "  the  King's  officers 
and  all  the  great  catches  land  at  Quebec  lirst,  when  they 
roine  t)ut  from  France,  and  we  take  toll  of  them  !  We 
don't  let  a  gentleman  of  them  get  up  to  Ville  Marie  without 
a  (Quebec  engagement  tacked  to  his  back,  so  that  all  Ville 
Mane  can  read  it,  and  die  of  pure  spite  !  I  say  we,  Frou- 
niois ;  l)ut  you  understand  I  speak  of  myself  only  as  the 
(haiiniiig  [osephine  of  Lake  Deauport.  I  must  content 
invself  now  with  telling  over  my  past  glories." 

'•Well  dame,  I  don't  know  but  you  are  glorious  yet! 
lilt  till  ine,  what  has  got  o\er  my  master  to-day  ?  Was  the 
unknown  lady  unkind  ?  Something  has  angered  him,  I  am 
sure  ! 

"  I  camiot  tell  you,  Froumois :  women's  moods  are  not 
to  he  explained,  even  by  themseh'cs."  'I'lie  dame  had  been 
sen.sii)ly  touched  by  Caroline's  confidence  in  her,  and  she 
was  loo  loyal  to  her  sex  to  repeat  even  to  Froumois  her 
ri.ceni  conxtMsation  with  I'aroline. 

Thi'y  found  plenty  of  other  t()[)ics,  however,  and  over  the 
tea  and  Cognac  the  dame  and  valet  passed  an  hour  of 
dcli^hlful  gossip. 

Caroline,  left  to  the  st^litude  of  her  chamber,  sat  silently 
with  her  hamls  clas])ed  in  hei"  lap.  Her  thoughts  pressed 
inward  upon  her.  She  looked  out  without  seeing  the  fair 
l.unl>(;a|)e  Ixifore  her  eyes. 

IVars  and  sorrow  she  hafl  welcomed  in  a  sjMrit  of  bitter 
;n.nit!'iice  for  her  fa'.U  in  lo\ini''  one  who  no  longer  regarded 
\m\  '' \  do  Hot  ilrscr\e  anv  man's  reu'aid/'  nun  imiictl  .^he, 
IS  she  laid  iier  soul  on  the  rack  of  self-accusation,  and 
wrung  its  leniierest  I'lbres  wilh  the  pitiless  rigor  of  a  secret 
in(iuisii(ii.  She  utterly  condemned  herself  while  still  trying 
■'"  lind  sonu;  c-xcuse  for  her  unwortlu'  lo\-er.  At  times  a 
I'lM  half-persuasion.  Iluttering  like  a  bird  in  tlu'  snow,  came 
"VM  her  that  liigot  could  not  be  utter'/  base.  lie  (-oiild 
11)1  thii.'^-  forsake  one  who  had  lost  all  name',  faint',  home, 
■iii'l  kindred        for  his  sake  !      She   clung  to   the   few  pitting 


l68 


tiil:  golden   uog. 


words  spoken  by  him  as  a  shipwrecked  sailor  to  the  plank 
which  chance  has  thrown  in  his  way.  It  might  float  her  for 
a  few  iiours,  and  she  was  grateful. 

Immersed  in  these  reflections,  Caroline  sat  gazing  at  the 
clouds,  now  transformed  into  royal  robes  of  crimson  and 
gold — the  gorgeous  train  of  the  sun  filled  the  western 
horizon.  She  raised  her  pale  hands  to  her  head,  lifting;  the 
mass  of  dark  hair  from  her  temples.  'l"he  fevered  blood. 
madly  coursing,  [)ulsed  in  her  ear  like  the  stroke  of  a  bell. 

She  remembered  a  sunset  like  this  on  the  shores  of  the 
Bay  of  Minas,  where  the  thrush  and  oriole  twittered  their 
even-song  before  seeking  their  nests,  where  the  foliai^e  of 
the  trees  was  all  ablaze  with  golden  fire,  and  a  shimmering 
path  of  sunlight  lay  upon  the  still  waters  like  a  glorious 
bridge  leading  from   themselves  to  the  bright  beyond. 

On  that  well-remembered  night  her  heart  had  yieklctl  lo 
Bigot's  pleadings.  She  had  leaned  her  head  upon  hi-, 
bosom,  and  received  the  kiss  and  gave  the  pledge  that 
bound  her  to  him  forever. 

The  sun  kept  sinking  —  the  forests  on  the  mountain  tops 
burst  into  a  bonfire  of  glory.  Shadows  went  creepini,^  up 
the  hill-sides  until  the  highest  crest  alone  flamed  out  as  a 
beacon  of  hope  to  her  troubled  soul. 

Suddenly,  like  a  voice  from  the  spirit  world,  the  faint 
chime  of  the  bells  of  Charlebourg  floated  on  the  evening 
breeze:  it  was  the  Angelus,  calling  men  to  prayer  and  rest 
from  their  daily  labor.  Sweetly  the  soft  reverberation 
floated  through  ihe  forests,  uj)  the  hill-sides,  by  plain  and 
river,  entering  the  open  lattices  of  Chateau  and  cott.iue, 
sunnnoning  rich  and  poor  alike  to  theii'  duty  of  prayer  and 
praise.  It  reminded  men  of  the  redemption  of  the  world 
by  the  divine  miracle  of  the  incarnation  announci'd  hy 
Gabriel,  the  angel  of  Cod,  to  the  ear  of  Mary  blessed 
among  women. 

The  soft  bells  rang  on.  Men  blessed  them,  and  coasod 
from  their  toils  in  lield  and  forest.  Mothers  knelt  hy  ihf 
.  nidlf^.  and  uttered  the  sacred  words  with  emotions  sue' 
'  nly  mothers  feel.  Children  knelt  by  their  mothers.  ;in( 
liTi-ned  Hie  story  o'  Cod's  pity  in  appearing  upon  earth  as  a 
little  t'hiid,  lo  >Vv'e  mankiiul  from  their  sins.  'J'hc  ihuk 
Huron   settinn'  his  snares  in   the  forest  and   the  fishers  on 


a> 
I 


THE    CHARMING    JOSEPHINE. 


169 


[liL'  shady  stream  stood  still.     The  voyageur  sweeping  his 
I  canoe  over  the  broad  river  suspended  his  oar  as  the  solemn 
i sound  reached  him,  and  he  repeated  the  angel's  words  and 
went  on  his  way  with  renewed  strength. 

Tile  sweet  bells  came  like  a  voice  of  pity  and  consolation 
to  the  car  of  Caroline.  She  knelt  down,  and  clasping  her 
:umds,  repeated  the  prayer  of  millions,  — 

"  '  Ave  Maria  !  gratia  plena.' " 

She  continued  kneeling,  offering  up  prayer  after  prayer 
fur  God's  forgiveness,  both  for  herself  and  for  him  who  had 
biuuglU  her  to  this  pass  of  sin  and  misery.  "  '  J/tv/  culpa! 
}l\}  maxima  culpa!'''"  repeated  she,  bowing  herself  to  the 
pound.  "  I.  am  the  chief  of  sinners ;  who  shall  deliver  me 
Irom  this  body  of  sin  and  afliction  ?  " 

The  sweet  bells  kept  ringing.     They  woke  reminiscences 

ul  voices  of   by-gone  days.     She  heard  her  father's  tones, 

not  in  anger  as  he  would  speak  now,  but  kind  and  loving  as 

I  in  her  davs  of    innocence.      She    heard   her   mother,   long 

diad      oh,    how   happily    dead !    for   she   could   not   die   of 

jsoiTow   now    over    her    dear    child's    fall.      She    heard    the 

voice.i  of  the  fair  companions  of  her  youth,  who  would  think 

Ishame  of  her  now;  and  amidst  them   all,  the  tones  of  the 

I  persuasive    tongue    that    wooed    her    maiden    love.       How 

jih,ui;;ecl  it  all  seemed !  and  yet,  as  the  repetition  of  two  or 

lllirce  notes   of   a   bar  of   music   brings   to   recollection    the 

Iwhole  melody  to  which   it  belongs,  the  few  kind  words  of 

i'j,()l.  spoken  that  morning,  swejit  all  before  them  in  a  drift 
Kii  hope.     Like  a  star  struggling  in  the  mist  the  faint  voice 

an  angel  was  heard  afar  off  in  the  darkness. 

fhe  ringing  of  the  Angelus  went  on.  Her  heart  was 
li.liorly  melted.  Her  eyes,  long  |-)arched,  as  a  spent  fountai' 
lin  the  burning  desert,  were  suddenly  filled  with  tears.  Slu 
flit  no  h)nger  the  agony  of  the  eyes  that  cannot  weep. 
blessed  tears  flowed  (luietl)'  as  tin;  waters  of  Shiloli, 
ing  relief  to  her  poor  soul,  famishing  for  one  true 
l^^'iiil  of  affection.  Long  after  th.e  sweet  bells  ceased  their 
jcliiine  Caroline  ke])t  on  |)iaying  for  him.  and  long  after  the 
Isiiades  of  night  had  fallen  ove/  the  Chateau  of  Ueaumanoir. 


I  111' 
triiu 


CHAPTER   XVI. 


ANGELIQUE    DES    MELOISES. 


Am 


"  /^~^OME  and  see  me  to-night,  Le  Gardeur."  /vnnLiiquc 
V^_^  des  Meloises  drew  the  bridle  sharply  as  she  hahec 
her  spirited  horse  in  front  of  the  officer  of  the  guard  at  ihc 
St.  Louis  Gate.  "Come  and  see  me  to-night:  1  shall  be  dt 
home  to  no  one  hut  you.     Will  you  come  ? '' 

Had  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  lx;en  ever  so  laggard  and 
indifferent  a  lo\ei'  the  touch  of  that  pretty  hand,  and  liic 
glance  from  the  dark  eye  that  shot  lire  down  into  iiis  \crv 
heart,  would  have  decided  him  to  obey  this  seductive 
invitation. 

He  held  her  hand  as  he  looked  up  with  a  face  radiant 
with  joy.      "I  will  surely  come,  Angeliciue;  but  tell  me  ^  " 

She  interrupted  him  laughingly:  "No;  1  will  tell  you 
nothing  till  you  come  1     So  good-by  till  then." 

He  would  fain  have  prolonged  the  interview ;  but  she 
capriciously  shook  the  reins,  and  with  a  silvery  laugh  nxk' 
through  the  gateway  and  into  the  cit}-.  In  a  few  niiiHiit'> 
she  dismounted  at  her  own  home,  and  gi\ing  her  Iwasi'  iii 
charge  of  a  groom,  ran  lightly  up  the  broad  steps  intu  the 
house. 

The  family  mansion  of  the  Des  Meloises  was  a  tall  and 
rather  pretentious  edifice  oveiiooking  the  fashionabK'  Kiie 
St.  Louis. 

The  house  was,  by  a  little  artifice  on  the  part  of  .Vngeiiqiie, 
em|)ty  of  \isilors  this  e\'ening.  I'Acn  her  brother,  the 
( 'he^' ili'.M"  des  Meloises,  with  whom  she  li\ed,  a  man  ot  hiji 
lite  iind  extreme  fashion,  was  to-night  erijoj'ing  the  inuic 
congenial  society  of  the  officers  of  the  Regiment  de  llfani. 
At  this  moment,  amiil  the  clash  of  glasses  and  the  buhhlin:^ 
of  wine,  the  e.xcitetl  and  voluble  Gascons  were  discussin-; 
in  one  breath  the    war,  the    council,  the   court,   the  laJicN 

170 


hull  at   home    to 


an"c;i:li()UK  ni:s   mki.oisks. 


i;i 


unl  whatever  gay  topic  was  tossed  from  end  to  end  of  tlie 

iLiowdt-''!  mess-table. 

••  Maticinoiselle's  hair  has  got  loose  and  looks  like  a 
[,ii,)irs/'   said    her    maid    lazette,    as    her    nimble    lingers 

ir'.anaiiged  the  rich  dark-golden  locks  of  x\.ngelic{ue,  which 
irichcd  to  the  floor  as  she  sat  upon  her  fauteuil. 
••Xd   matter,    Lizette ;    do    it    up    (}    la    I\unpadoiir^    and 

jiiKikc  haste.  My  brain  is  in  as  great  confusion  as  my 
hail".     1  iiLcd  repose  for  an  hour.       Remember,  Lizette,   I 

j;u)i  at   home    to   no   one    to-night   except    the    Chexalier   de 
Rt'pciuigny." 
••The  Chevalier  called  this  afternoon.  Mademoiselle,  and 

hv.is  bOiT}-  he  did  not  lind  you  at  home,"  replied  Lizette, 
who  saw  the  eyelashes  of  her  mistress  qui\er  and  drooj), 
v.hile  a  llush  deepened  for  an  instant  the  roseate  hue  of  her 

I  cheek. 

••  I  was  in  the  country,  that  accounts  for  it!  There,  my 
iiaiiwill  do!"  said  Angeliciue,  gi\ing  a  glance  in  thev;jv:.-t 

IVcnetian  mirror  before  her.     Her  freshly  donned  robe  ot  blue 

I  silk,  edged  with  a  foam  of  snowy  laces  and  furbelows,  set  off 
111.'!'  tall  figure.  Her  arms,  bare  to  the  elbows,  would  have 
excited  Juno's  jealousy  or  Homer's  verse  to  gather  efforts  in 

linaise  of  them.     Her  dainty  feet,  shapely,  asj^iring,  and  full 

lot  character  as  her  face,  were  carelessly  thrust  forward,  and 
upon  one  of  them  lay  a  tlossy  spaniel,  a  pri\ileged  pet  of  his 

[fair  mistress. 

Tlu'  boudf)ir  of  Angelique  was  a  nest  of  luxury  and  ele- 
^Miice.  Its  fm'nishiiigs  and  adornings  were  of  the  newest 
iVni^ian  st}le.  A  carpet  woven  in  the  pattern  of  a  bed  of 
tiiiwers  covered  tlu;  (loor.  Vases  of  Sevres  and  Porcelein, 
lilli'd  with  roses  and  jotupiils,  stood  on  marble  tables. 
(iiand  W'netian  mirrors  reflected  tlu!  fair  form  of  their  mis- 
tress fiMiii  e\'ery  ]K)int  of  \iew  -  who  contemi)lated  herself 
beloic  ami  behind  with  a  feeling  of  jH'rfect  satistaclion  and 
M'iise  ol  triumph  o\-er  e\ery  ri\al. 

A  harpsichord  (»ccu|)ied  one  comer  of  the  r()i)m,  and  an 
daliiiiate  bookcase,  well-lilled  w  ith  s[)lendidly  bouiul  xolumes, 
aiuitluT. 

.\ngrli(jue  had  small  taste  for  reading,  yet  had  made  some 
Wquiinlance  witli  the  literature  of  the  day.  Her  natural 
diiuk  parts  and  goijd  taste  enabletl  her  to  shine,  even  in  lit- 


172 


TIIK    GOLDEN    DOG. 


eraiy  conversalion.  Her  bright  eyes  looked  volunie.s.  H-r 
si'very  hiu[;h  wds  wiser  tluiii  the  wisdom  of  a  prkciciisc.  \\^-- 
witly  repartees  covered  acres  of  deficiencies  with  so  muc:, 
grace  and  tact  that  men  were  tempted  to  praise  her  knov,- 
ledj^e  no  less  than  her  beauty. 

She  had  a  keen  eye  for  artistic  effects.  She  Iovlh 
painting;,  althoui^h  her  taste  was  sensuous  and  voluptuous 
—  character  is  shown  in  the  choice  of  pictures  as  much  as  in 
that  of  books  or  of  companions. 

There  was  a  painting  of  Vanloo  —  a  lot  of  full-blooded 
horses  in  a  field  of  clover  ;  they  had  broken  fence,  and  were 
luxuriating  in  the  rich,  forbidden  pastiu'e.  The  triumph  o; 
C'leopatra  over  Antony,  by  Le  Ihun,  was  a  great  favoiik 
with  Angelique,  l)ecause  of  a  fancied,  if  not  a  real,  reseinl- 
lance  between  her  own  features  and  those  of  the  famoih 
Queen  of  Egypt.  Portraits  of  favorite  friends,  one  of  thfiii 
Le  Gardeur  de  l\ei:)entigny,  and  a  still  more  recent  acqiii>i- 
tion,  that  of  the  Inteudant  IHgot,  adorned  the  walls,  ana 
among  them  was  one  distinguished  for  its  contrast  to  all  tlic 
rest — the  likeness,  in  the  garb  of  an  Ursuline,  of  her  beaii 
tiful  Aunt  Marie  des  Meloises,  wl^o,  in  i.  fit;  of  caprice  S(jnK 
years  before,  had  suddenly  forsaken  the  world  of  fashion,  aiiii 
reti'ed  to  a  convent. 

'  !\e  proud  beauty  threw  back  her  thick  golden  tresses  ib 
she  ^canned  her  fair  face  and  magnificent  figure  in  the  tal! 
Venetian  mirror.  She  drank  the  intoxicating  cup  of  seh 
flattery  to  the  bottom  as  she  compared  herself,  feature  iv. 
feature,  with  every  beautiful  woman  she  knew  in  New  fraiin. 
The  longer  she  looked  the  more  she  felt  the  superiority  di 
her  own  charms  over  them  all.  Kven  the  portrait  of  hi!^ 
aunt,  so  like  her  in  feature,  so  different  in  expression,  \va> 
glanced  at  with  something  like  triumph  spiced  with  conicni 

'"She  was  handsome  as  I  !"  cried  Angeliciue.  "Siieua^ 
fit  to  be  a  tiueen,  and  made  herself  a  nun  -  and  all  for  tlir 
sake  of  a  man  !  1  am  fit  to  be  a  c|ueen  to(j.  and  the  man 
who  raises  me  nighest  to  a  cpieen's  estate  gets  my  hand  I  M 
heart  ?  "  she  jxiused  a  few  moments.  "  Pshaw  !  "  A  ^lii-i; 
quiver  ])assed  over  her  lips.  "  My  heart  must  do  penanu 
for  the  fault  of  my  hand  !  " 

Petrified  by  vanity  and    saturated  with   ambition,  Aik'i-- 
lique  retained  under  the   liard  crust  of  selfishness  a  solita '. 


ANGKLIQUK    DES    MELOISES. 


^7Z 


spark  of  womanly  feeling.     The  lianclsoine  face  and  figure 

|(it  Le  (lardeur  de    Repenligny  was  her  beau-ideal  of  manly 

nerfection.     His  admiration  flattered  her  pride.      His  love, 

[•,,1  she  knew   infallibly,  with  a  woman's    instinct,   that    he 

[loved  licr.  touched  her  into  a  tenderness  such  as  she  felt  for 

liiDinan  besides.      It  was  the  nearest  approach  to  love  her 

n.uure  was  capable  of,  and   she   used   to  listen   to  him   with 

niiiio  than  complacency,  while  she  let  iier  hand  linger  in  his 

Iwarmcl.isi)  while  the  electiic  \\m  passed  from  one  to  another 

and  >ho  looked  into  his  eyes,  and  spoke  to  him  in  those  sweet 

luiuleitDiies  that  win  man's  hearts  to  woman's  purposes. 

She  l.ieiieved  she  loved  Le  (Jardeur;  but  there  was  no 
Idoplh  in  the  soil  where  a  devoted  passion  could  take  lirm 
root.  Still  she  was  a  woman  keenly  alive  to  admiration,  — 
jealous  and  exacting  of  her  suitors,  ne\er  willingly  letting 
one  loose  from  her  bonds,  and  with  warm  passions  and  a 
ciild  heart  was  eager  for  the  semblance  of  love,  although 
[never  feeling  its  clivine  reality. 

The  idea    of  a  union   with   Le  Gardeur  some  day,  when 

bhc  should  tire  of  the  whirl  of  fashion,  had  been  a  pleasant 

fan'jy  of  AngeMique.      She  had   no  fear  of  losing  her  power 

(ivcr  hiin :  she   held  him  by  the  very  heart-strings,  and  she 

knew  it.      She   might  procrastinate,    play  false   and    loose, 

drive  him  to  the  very  verge  of  madness  b}-  her  coquetries, 

but  she  knew  she  could  draw  him  back,  like  a  bird  held  by 

a  silken  string.      She  could  excite,  if   she  could  not  feel,  the 

[tire  of  a  passionate  love.     In  her  heart  she  regard(?d  men  a.s 

l)einj:;s  created  for  her  serxice,  amazement,  and  sport,  —  to 

[v.orship  her  beauty  and  adorn  it  with  gifts.      She  took  every- 

in::;as  her  due,  giving  nothing  in  return.      Her  love  was  an 

[tiupiy  shell  that  never  held  a  kernel  of  real   womanly  c.ire 

I  for  any  iiian. 

Amid  the  sunshine  of  her  fancied  love  for  Le  (iardeur 
ltd  eoine  a  day  of  eclipse  for  him,  of  fresh  g\ox\  for  her. 
iTIif  arrival  of  the  new  Intendant,  IJigot.  changed  the  cur- 
livnt  of  Angelique's  ambition.  His  high  rank,  his  fabulous 
rvealth.  his  connections  with  the  court,  and  his  unmarried 
Mate,  fanned  into  a  flame  the  secret  aspirations  of  the 
Iprdiid,  ambitious  girl.  His  wit  and  gallantry  captivated  her 
jf.incy.  antl  her  vanity  was  full  'iv(\  by  being  singled  out  as 
[the  special  object  of  the   Intendant's  admiration. 


174 


Till'.   (.(>i.i)i:\    !)()(.. 


She  already  indulged  in  dreams  which  regarded  iIk 
tendant  himself  as  but  a  stepping-stone  to  further  grfatiii- 
Her  \i\id  fancy,  conjured  up  scenes  of  royal  splentlor.  wj^ 


introduced  by  the  courtly  bigot,  princes  ami  noble,-, 
follow   in  her  train    and  the   smiles  of  maiestv   itself 


disl 


ni.''u 


ish   her   in   the   roval   halls  of   \'ersailles. 


Angeli(|ue    felt    she    had    power    U)    accomplish    al 


could   sue   I) 


ut   (;p 


n   tl 


le   \v;iv, 


Til 


c  naiue   o 


f    1 


ILTol 


irded  as   tiie  open   sesame  to  all   greatness. 


.he  : 
won, 


said  she,  gazing  into  tli; 


rule    l'"rance  by  a  right  more   divine   than   that  of  kiii^xni, 
woman  has  a  better  right  than  1 
mirror  l)efore  her.        "The  kingdfjin    slunild  be 
death   to  all   other   pretenders  !      And   what   i-.   ne 


nunc,  unc 


all 


3  " 


th 


ought    she,   as  slie   !)rusliL'd   her    golden    hair  frmr, 


her  temples  with  a  hand  lirm  as  it  was  beautiful.  '•  It  is  i,;; 
t(^  pull  down  the  heart  of  a  man  I  I  have  done  that  nianv,; 
time  for  my  pleasure;  I  will  now  do  it  for  my  prolit.  aiuhi: 
supremacy  over  my  jealous  and  envious  sex  !  " 

Angelique  was  not  one  to  quail  when  ;,he  enteTcd  l. 
battle  in  pursuit  of  any  oDject  of  ambition  or  fan(\-.  •■! 
never  saw  the  man  yet,"  said  she,  "  whom  I  could  not  hriii;; 
to  mv  feet  if  I  willed  it!     The  Che\alier  Bigot 


woiiUl  he  III 


exception 


that  is,  he 


would  be  no  exception 


tl 


le  voiu- 


of  Angc'lique  fell  into  a  lo\\'.  hard  monotone  as  she  linisiiw 
the  sentence  —  ''were  he  free  from  the  inthience  of  th: 
mysterious  woman  at  I>eaumanoir,  who,  they  say,  claim.i  liit 
title  of  wife  by  a  token  which  e\  en  bigot  may  not  disregard! 
Ibjr  pleading  e}'es    may  draw   his   compassion   where  t 


fitV 


ouL'iu  to  excite   his  scorn. 


but  men   are  fools  to  woman 


faults,  and   are  often  held  by  the   \ery  th 
forg 


m; 


women   neve: 


ive. 


While  she  cnniches  there  like  a  lioness  in  my 
path  the  chances  are  I  shall  ne\er  be  chatelaine  of  i  ::• 
manoir       never,  until  she  is  gone  !  " 

Angeli(|ue  fell  into  a  deei)  ht  of  musing,  and  niiniiuira; 
I    shall    never   reach    jjiuot   unless  slu;  he  re 


to 


lerse 


If, 


mo\e( 


but  1 


low  to  remove  liei 


•  ? 


.\v,    that    was    the    riddle    of    the    Snhinx ! 


•vnue 


Kiue 


life,  as  slie  had   projected  it,  dejjended   upon   the    answer  to 


that 


(jueslion. 


c\\ 


She  trembled   with   a  new  feelin<r ;  a  shiver  ran  tlirou 
liei  veins  as  if  the  cold  breath  of  a  spirit  of  evil  \r.\d  pa«i.J 


Vdict'^  brcjught 

more  of  the  tern 
[be  delivered,  jus 

diat  underlie  the 

a  bird  in  the  sun 
An  hour  more 
Nets.     The  drum; 

>i,:;nal  for  the  clo 
[of  the  w.itch  foi 
[the  patrol  was  he 
i  Drihkly  home,  wh 
I  their  iiuarters  ere 
The  sharp  gal' 

nent.  and  stoppe 
[the  clink  of  a  sc; 
|i"ih)'vc(l.  Ange 
[woman  who  reco 

'"ill  ten  thousar 
ide  RcjK'ntigny  a 

li  ''■''  with  warmtl 
K!.::tlcur  and  lo\e 

r^.^t  of  her  admir 


ANdlUJol'I',    DKS     Mi:i,<)ISI'.S. 


1/5 


over  licr.  A  miner,  bcH'itijj;  down  into  the  earth,  strikes  .1 
hidden  stone  that  brin<:;s  him  to  a  dead  siand.  So  Ani^eHque 
^iruci<  a  hard,  chirk  thouj^ht  far  down  in  tlie  depAhs  of  her 
yjcret  soul.  She  drew  it  to  tlie  Hi;ht,  and  t^a/ed  on  it 
shocked  and  fri_u;htened. 

••  I  tlid  not  mean  that  !  "  cried  the  startled  i^irl,  crossin^j 
herself.  "  Mhr  dc  Din/!  I  did  not  conceive  a  wicked 
thoiiLi'it  like  that!  1  will  not!  I  cannot  c(..Ueni])late  that!" 
She  .shut  iicr  e\es,  pressin^j;  both  hands  o\er  them  as  if 
looived  not  to  look  at  the  e\dl  thoui^lit  that,  like  a  sjiirit  of 
u.irkness,  came  when  e\-oked,  and  would  not  depart  when 
bidden.  She  sprani;;  up  trend)linu;  in  every  lind),  and  sujo- 
pijilinLi;  herself  aj^ainst  a  table,  seized  a  gilded  carafe  and 
poured  out  a  full  <!;obiet  of  wine,  which  she  drank.  It  re- 
vived her  fainunjj;  spirit.  She  drank  another,  and  stood  up 
herself  a,2jain,  laughing  at  her  own  weakness. 

She  ran  to  the  window,  and  looked  out  into  the  night. 
The  bright  stars  shone  overhead;  the  lights  in  the  street 
iv,is>ured  her.  'I'he  people  passing  by  and  the  sound  of 
VDiee.N  brought  back  her  familiar  mood.  She  thought  no 
more  of  the  teinptation  from  which  she  had  not  prayed  to 
[be  delivered,  just  as  the  daring  skater  forgets  the  depths 
I  that  underlie  the  thin  ice  over  which  lie  skims,  careless  as 
a  bird  in  the  sunshine. 

An  bour  more  was  struck  by  the  loud  clock  of  the  Recol- 

jlets.    The  drums  and  bugles  of  the  garri.son  sounded  the 

si;nial  fur  the  closing  of  the  gates  of  the  city  and  the  setting 

of  the  uMtch  for  the  night.      I'resently  the   heav}-  iramp  of 

the  p.Urol  was  heard  in  the  street.     Sober  bourgeois  walked 

I  briskly  borne,  while  belated  soldiers   ran   hastily  to   get    into 

I  their  iiuarlcrs  ere  the  drums  ceased  beating  the  tattoo. 

The  sb.irp  gallop  of  a  horse  clattered  on  the  stony  pave- 
ment, and  stopped  suddenly  at  the  door.  A  light  step  and 
t!ie  clink  of  a  scabbard  rang  on  the  stei)s.  A  familiar  raij 
tollowed.  Angelicjue,  with  the  infallible  intuition  of  a 
Woman  who  i-ecognizes  the  knock  and  foostep  of  her  lo\-er 
ii'in  ten  thousand  others,  sprang  up  and  met  T.e  (lardeur 
(le  Repenlignv  as  he  entered  the  boudoir.  She  received 
liM  With  warmth,  e\'en  fondness,  for  she  was  proud  of  Le 
Ml.  xleur  and  lo\ed  him  in  her  secret  heart  beyond  all  the 
UeM  of  her  admirers. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


A 


'  .^  >. 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


■tt  B2i2    12.2 

S  ya  12.0 


<p^. 


^ 


V] 


o 


/: 


/ 


^ 


Hiotographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

WnSTIR.N.Y.  MSIO 

(716)  •73-4503 


4% 


176 


TJiK  fini.nr.N  nor,. 


"Welcome,  Le  (lardeur  ! "  exclaimed  she,  siviiiij;  U,\\i 
hands  in  his  :  "  I  knew  you  would  come ;  you  are  welcome 
as  the  returned  prodigal !  " 

"Dear  An<;elique  !"  repeated  he,  after  kissing  her  hm\. 
with  fervor,  "  the  prodigal  was  sure  to  return,  he  coukl  no: 
live  longer  on  the  dry  husks  of  mere  recollections." 

"  So  he  rose,  and  came  to  the  house  that  is  full  and  ova 
Mowing  with  welcome  for  him  !  It  is  good  of  you  to  (finii. 
Le  Gardeur !  why  have  you  stayed  so  long  away?"  An;, 
lique  in  the  joy  of  his  presence  forgot  for  the  moinoni  her 
meditated  inlidelity. 

A  swift  stroke  of  her  hand  swept  aside  her  Mowing  skirts 
to  clear  a  place  for  him  upon  the  sofa,  where  he  s.u  down 
beside  her. 

"This  is  kind  of  you,  Angclique,"  said  he,  *' I  did  no; 
expect  so  much  condescension  after  my  petulance  ;U  the 
(Jovernor's  ball  ;   I  was  wicked  that  night    -forgive  inc." 

"The  fault  was  more  mine,  1  doubt,  I.e  (Jardeur."  An^c 
lique  recollected  how  she  had  tormented  him  on  that  oui 
sion  by  capricious  slights,  while  bounteous  of  her  siiiilcs  in 
others.  "  I  was  angry  with  you  because  of  your  too  _;mi\u 
devotion  to  C'ecile  Tourangeau." 

This  was  not  true,  but  Angclique  had  no  scruple  to  lie 
a  lover.  She  knew  well  that  it  was  only  from  his  vexation! 
at  her  conduct  that  Le  Gardeur  had  pretended  to  renew 
some  long  intermitted  coquetries  with  the  fair  Cecilc. 
"  Hut  why  were  you  wicked  at  all  that  night?"  in(|uired  >hi', 
with  a  look  of  sudden  interest,  as  she  caught  a  red  ca>t 
in  his  eye,  that  spoke  of  much  dissipation.  "  \'oii  h;ive| 
been  ill,  Le  Gardeur  !  "  Hut  she  knew  he  had  been  chinkiii; 
deep  and  long,  to  drown  vexation,  perhaps,  over  her  conduei 

"I  have  not  been  ill,"  replied  he;  "shall  I  tell  you  ilie| 
truth,  Angelic|ue  ?  " 

"Always,  and  all  of  it!  'I'he  whole  truth  and  nothing 
but  the  truth!"  Her  hand  rested  fondly  on  his;  no  woiil 
of  equivocation  was  possible  under  that  mode  of  piittini: 
her  lover  to  the  question.  "  Tell  me  why  you  were  wicked 
that  night !  " 

"  Hecause  I  loved  you  to  madness,  Angclique;  and  i  si^H 
myself  thrust  from  the  fust  place  in  your  heart,  and  a  nc^l 
idol  set  up  111  my  stead.      That  is  the  truth?" 


ANfiKF.IorK    DKS    MKI.OISI'.S. 


177 


•'["hal  i^  not  the  trutii  !"  exchiiined  she  veheiiieiUly ;  and 
iievei  will  be  tlie  truth  if  I  know  myself  and  you.  Hut  you 
don't  know  women,  Le  (lardeur,"  added  she,  with  a  smile; 
•vou  don't  know  me,  the  one  woman  you  ought  to  know 
better  than  that !  " 

it  is  easy  to  recover  affection  that  is  not  lost.     Angeli(iue 
knew  lior  power,  and  was  not  iiulisposed  to  excess  in  the 
exercise  of  it.     *' Will   you  do  something  for  me,  Le  Gar 
ileur?"  asked  she,  tapping  his  lingers  coquettishly  witli  her 

1.111. 

••Will  I  not?  Is  there  anything  in  earth,  heaven,  or  hell, 
Aniiclique,  I  would  not  do  for  you  if  I  only  could  win  what 
I  (ovel  more  than  life.''  " 

-Wlial  is  that?"  Angelique  knew  full  well  what  he 
coveted  more  than  life ;  her  own  heart  began  to  beat  respon- 
Mvelytothe  pa.ssion  she  had  kindled  in  his.  She  nestled  up 
do.ser  to  his  side.     "What  is  that,  Le  Gardeur?  " 

••\'()ur  love,  Angelique  !  I  have  no  other  hope  in  life  if  I 
miss  that !  (ii\e  me  your  love  and  I  will  serve  )'ou  with 
>ucli  loyalty  as  never  man  .served  woman  with  since  Adam 
.111(1  Kve  were  created." 

It  was  a  rash  saying,  but  Le  (lardeur  belie\ed  it,  and 
.\n;^'li(|ue  too.  Still  she  kept  her  aim  before  her.  "If  1 
;,'ive  you  my  love,"  said  she,  pressing  her  hand  through  his 
1  thick  locks,  sending  from  her  fingers  a  thousand  electric 
lires.  "will  you  really  be  my  knight,  \wy  prrnx  clwi'alier,  to 
wear  my  colors  and  tight  my  battles  with  all  the  world  ?" 

"1  will,  by  all  that  is  sacred  in  man  or  woman!     V'our 
will  shall   be   my   law,   Angelicjuc;   your  pleasure,  my  con- 
I  science:  you  shall  be  to  me  all  reason  and  motive  for  my 
.Kis  if  you  will  but  love  me  !  " 

"1  (In  love  you,  Le  Gardeur  !  "  replied  she,  impetuously. 

j'Shelelt  the  vitai  soul  of  this  man  breathing  on  her  cheek. 

I.Slio  knew  ^e  spoke'  true,  but  she  was  incapable  of  measuring 

lie  heiulu  and  immensity  of  such  a  passion.      She  accepted 

hi''  love,  but  she  could   no  more  contain  the  fulness  cjf  his 

overllowing   affection   than   the   pitcher  that   is  held    to   the 

Ifouni.iiii  can  contain  the  stream  that  gushes  forth  perpetually. 

Ani;eli(|ue    was    it/)/io\f  carried    away   from    her    ])urpose, 
however.      I  lad  her  heart  asserted  its  rightful  supremacy 
'hat  i.s,  luid  nature  fashioned    it   larger   and   warmer    -she 


178 


TIIK    (i()I,I)i:\     Dix.. 


had  there  and  then  thrown  herself  into  his  arms  and  hlcssd 
him  by  the  consent  he  sought.  She  felt  assured  that  litre 
was  the  one  man  (iod  had  made  for  her,  and  she  was  cniLilv 
sacrificing  him  to  a  false  idol  of  ambition  and  vanity.  Tiie 
word  he  pleaded  for  hovered  on  her  tongue,  ready  liki-  a  liini 
to  leap  down  into  his  bo.som  ;  but  she  resolutely  beat  it  h.ak 
into  its  iron  cage. 

'IMie  struggle  was  the  old  one  —  old  as  the  race  of  man 
In  the  losing  battle  between  the  fal.se  and  true,  love  raniv 
comes  out  of  that  conflict  unshorn  of  life  or  limb.  I  iitiuc 
to  him,  she  was  true  to  her  selfish  self.  The  thought  of  !lu 
Intendant  and  the  glories  of  life  opening  to  her  closed  lu; 
heart,  not  to  the  pleadings  of  Le  (iardeur,  —  them  she  lovd, 
—  but  to  the  granting  of  his  prayer. 

'I'he  die  was  cast,  but  she  still  clasped  hard  his  hand  in 
hers,  as  if  she  could  not  let  him  go.  "  And  will  you  do  a; 
you  say,  Le  Gardeur  —  make  my  will  your  law,  my  plcuMuv 
your  conscience,  and  let  me  be  to  you  all  reason  and  motivt; 
Such  devotion  terrifies  me,  Le  (iardeur  ?  " 

"Try  me!  Ask  of  me  the  hardest  thing,  nay,  the  wicked- 
est, that  imagination  can  conceive  or  hands  do^ — ^and  I  wtmkl 
perform  it  for  your  sake."  Le  (iardeur  was  getting  heskk 
himself.  The  magic  power  of  those  dark,  flashing  eyes  ui 
hers  was  melting  all  the  fine  gold  of  his  nature  to  folly, 

"  Fie  !  "  replied  she,  "I  do  not  a.sk  you  to  drink  the  mm:  a 
small  thing  would  content  me.  My  love  is  not  so  exacting' a> 
that,  Le  Gardeur." 

"  Does  your  brother  need  my  aid  ? "  asked  he.  "If  lie  doe>, 
he  shall  have  it  to  half  my  fortune  for  your  sake!"  Li 
Gardeur  was  well  aware  that  the  prodigal  brother  ol  A\v:c 
lique  was  in  a  strait  for  money,  as  was  usual  with  him,  lit 
had  lately  importuned  Le  Gardeur,  and  obtained  a  lai;:;t 
sum  from  him. 

She  looked  up  with  well-affected  indignation.  "I  low  can 
you  think  such  a  thing,  Le  (iardeur.''  my  brother  was  iioiin 
my  thought.  It  was  the  Intendant  I  wished  to  ask  you 
about,  —  you  know  him  better  than  I." 

This  was  not  true.  Angclique  had  studied  the  Intendant 
in  mind,  person,  and  estate,  weighing  him  .scruple  by  scruple 
to  the  last  attainable  atom  of  information.  Not  that  slicluui 
sounded  the  depths  of  Bigot's  soul  —  there  were  rej;i()ib  of 


darkness  in  hi 


AN(ii:M(>l'K     I)i:S     MKI.OISKS. 


•79 


darkness  in  his  cluiracter  which  no  eye  l)ut  (lod's  ever  pene- 
inued.  Angelique  felt  that  with  all  her  acuteness  she  did 
not  coinpreliend  the  Inlendant. 

•'\\n\  ask  what  1  think  of  the  Inlendant?"  asked  he,  sur- 
priMt'd  M)inewhal  at  the  (juestion. 

••Ve>  an  otld  question,  is  it  not,  Le  (iardeur?"  and  she 
Niiiilotl  away  any  surprise  he  experienced. 

••  rnilv,  i  think  him  the  most  jovial  gentleman  that  ever 
was  in  Now  l''rance,"  was  the  reply;  "frank  and  open-handed 
•ihis  friends.  huij;hinj;  and  dangerous  to  his  foes.  His  wit 
;>  like  his  wine,  Anj;eli(iue  :  one  never  tires  of  either,  and  no 
Luishness  exhausts  it.  In  a  word,  1  like  the  Inlendant,  I  like 
hi>  wit  ,l)is  wine,  his  friends,  —  some  of  them,  that  is  !  —  hut 
above  all.  1  like  you,  .\n,i;eli(iue.  and  will  be  more  his  friend 
ihin  ever  for  your  sake,  since  I  ha\e  learned  his  j;enerosily 
Itijwaicis  ihe  Chevalier  des  Nfeloises." 

rhe  Inlendant  had  recenlly  bestowed  a  number  of  valu- 
laile  shares  in  the  (Jrand  ('omi)any  upon  the  brother  of 
.\ii;rli(|ue,  makinj;  the  fortune  of  that  extravagant  young 
|nohloin;ui. 

"1  am  glad  you  will  be  his  friend,  if  only  for  my  sake," 
laidid  she,  cocjuettishly.  "  IJut  some  great  friends  of  yours 
him  not.  Vour  sweet  sister  .\melie  shrank  like  a  sensi- 
ItiiL'  plant  at  the  mention  of  his  name,  and  the  Lady  de  Tilly 
Ipuion  her  gravest  look  to-tlay  when  1  spoke  of  the  Chevalier 

lli-ot." 

Lcdaiu.  ur  gave  Angc'liciue  an  ecpiivocal  look  at  mention 
|of  his  sisler.  '*  My  sisler  Amelie  is  an  angel  in  the  flesh," 
said  hi;.  "  .V  man  need  be  little  less  than  divine  lo  meet 
mr  full  approval;  and  my  good  aiuit  has  heard  something 

f  the  genial  life  of  the  Inlendant.  One  may  excuse  a 
rc'inoving  shake  of  her  noble  head." 

"Colonel   IMiilibert    loo!   he  shares  in  the   sentiments  of 

'iir  aunt  and  sisler,  to  say  nothing  of  the  standing  ho.stility 
bt  his  lather,  the  IJourgeois."  continued  .Angelique,  provoked 
^it  I'>^  ^'iii'leur's  want  of  adhesion. 

"  I'ierie  Philibert !  >Ie  may  not  like  the  Inlendant:  he 
p^  reason  for  not  doing  .so;  but  I  slake  my  life  upon  his 
b'lvir  he  will  never  be  unjust  towards  the  Inlendant  or 
hyinan."  Lc  (Iardeur  could  not  be  diawn  into  a  censure 
Jl  his  fi  icnd. 


i8o 


TIIK    (iOI.ni.N     l)()(i 


Anf^cliciue  shielded  ;idroitly  the  siilelto  of  innuend(j  sliehai; 
drawn.  **  V'ou  say  ri<;ht,"  said  she,  craftily  ;  "  Pierre  rhiliiicr; 
is  a  gentleman  worthy  of  your  reijjard.  I  confess  1  ha\c  xc:. 
no  handsomer  man  in  New  l-rance.  I  have  been  difiini:- 
of  one  like  him  all  my  life!  What  a  |)ity  1  saw  you  lii^i.  1,^ 
Gardeur !  "  added  she,  pullinj;-  him  by  the  hair, 

"  I  doubt  you  would  throw  me  to  the  lishes  were  I'ierrciiivl 
rival,    Anjjjc'lique,"    replied   he,    merrily ;    "  but    I    am  in  n' 
danger:    I'ierre's    affections    are,    I    fancy,   forestalled  in  , 
quarter  where  1  need  not  be  jealous  of  his  success." 

"  I    shall   at  any  rate  not  be   jealous  of   your  sister.  L 
dardeur,"  said  Angc'li(|ue,  raising  her  face  to  his,  siitlu>t;(ii 
with  a  blush  ;  "  if  I  do  not  give  you  the  love  you  ask  for  n 
because  you  have  it  ahead)';   but  ask  no  more  at   \)\x>v']- 
from   me  —  this,   at   least,  is  your.s,"  said  she,  kissing  Inn. 
t'.vice,  without  prudery  or  hesitation. 

That  kiss  fn^m  those  adored  lips  sealed  his  fate.  It  v.p 
the  fir.st  —  better  it  had  been  the  last,  better  he  had  ikvt: 
been  born  than  have  drank  the  poison  of  her  lips. 

"  Now  answer  me  my  cpiestions,  Le  Gardeur,"  added  .-in, 
after  a  pause  of  soft  blandishments. 

Le  Gardeur  felt  her  fingers  playing  with  his  hair,  as.  Iim 
Delilah,  she  cut  off  the  seven  locks  of  his  strength. 

"There  is  a  lady  at  Heaumanoir;  tell  me  who  and  wlii! 
she  is,  Le  (iardeur,"  said  she. 

He  would  not  have  hesitated  to  betray  the  gate  of  Hoavcnl 
at  her  praver  ;  but,  as  it  happened,  Le  Gardeur  could  noiL'iul 
her  the  special  information  she  wanted  as  to  the  particiiirl 
relation  in  which  that  lady  stood  to  the  Intendant.  .\ii:;tr 
lique  with  wonderful  coolness  talked  away,  and  hu!i;luil  :i:| 
the  idea  of  the  Intendant's  gallantry.  lUit  she  could  ^d  iw| 
confirmation  of  her  suspicions  from  Le  Gardeur.  lli:j 
incpiiry  was  for  the  present  a  failure,  but  she  made  Lei 
Gardeur  promise  to  learn  what  he  could  and  tell  lur  tiicj 
result  of  his  incpiiries. 

They  sat  long  conversing  together,  until  the  !»cll  nf  tht^ 
RecoUets  sounded  the  hour  of  midnight.  Angeli(|ue  iDokciil 
in  the  face  of  Le  Gardeur  with  a  meaning  smile,  as  >liel 
counted  each  stroke  with  her  dainty  finger  on  lii>  ^'k^'^\ 
When  finished,  she  sprang  up  and  looked  out  of  I  hi'  \Mi'-<i 
at  the  summer  nitrht. 


The  stars 
Wain  la)-  invi 
driven  his  spi 
>k\,  A  lew  t 
j;ently  oxer  hei 
in  Le  (Jardeur 
Ills  e\'es  to  th 
cirried  in  her  I 
UvY  leel  seem 
liaii  le.MiKed  tc 
a  true  and  dev( 

■•  Ri'ad    my 

"\ou  are  a  .Se 

j.^^iMiiiiary   stud' 

(studenis  all  bee 

•Would    thai 

An;'eli(|ue,'"    re| 

[ni't  tor  other  s 

lUV." 

Her  oosoni  hi 

jli"iif  .uid    the   I 

iii.i'tery.      Her 

pHleii  i)en(lule 

P"(l  impulse  a^ 

•book.  Ia'G; 
'!  I 'else  us,  who 
i^v  star.     .Mere 
I'l'  thai  that  wa; 

''il<t  all  whosi 
iL-'iinv. 

'■"^•^  Iardeur  h; 
ll"lM  the  velicr, 
5'i"ted   to   the 

;'ii,i;fs  from  bi- 

"■'i>ve  changes 

Mere    Mai  Ik 

foiiMil  liiT,  as  if 

"''•  '.'urseil    s 

'i"i-'.'    That  is 

\'i,iivlique  shu 
111  luir. 


ANGKLIOL'K    DKS    M  i:[.(  )ISi:s. 


i8i 


TliL'   stars   were   twinklinji;   like   li\inL;'   lliinj^s.     ("luirles's 

[Wain  lav   inverted   in    the    northern    hori/on ;    Bootes    had 

driven  his  sparkling   herd   down   the   slope  of  the    western 

l>kv.     A   feu   thick  tresses  of   her  golden    hair   hung  negii- 

;:cnllv  <)\er  her  bosom  and  shoulders.      She  placed  her  arm 

lin  Lf  (lanleur's,  hanging  heavily  upon  him  as  she  directed 

his  c\cs  to  the   starry   iiea\ens.     'I'he   seKish    schemes    she 

Icirrit'cl  in  her  bcxsoni  dropped  for  a  moment  to  the  ground, 

Hi-r  fcL-l  seemed  to  trample  them   into  the  dust,  while  she 

hall  u;M)lved  to  he  to  tiiis  man  all  thai  he  believed  her  to  be, 

latiiie  and  de\oted  woman. 

•Read    my    destiny,    Le    Gardeur,"   said    she.    earnestly. 
Vuii  lie  a  Seminarist.     They  say  the  wise  fathers  of  tiie 
|Si:iiinary   study   deeply   the   science   of   the   stars,  and   the 
biiKKiiis  all  become  adepts  in  it." 

•Wiiuld   that    my   starr\-    heaven    were    more    propitious. 
.\!i;4e!i(iue."    replied   he,   gaily   kissing   her    eyes.     "  I    care 
liiii  tor  other  skies  than  these  !     My  fate  and  fortune  are 
tlurc." 

I  lor  hosom  heaved  with  mingled  passions.  The  word  of 
111  1  if  aiul  the  word  of  denial  struggled  on  hei-  lips  for 
liiii  kiv.  Her  blood  throi)be(l  cpiicker  than  the  beat  of  the 
Igniilv'ii  pendule  on  the  marble  table;  but,  like  a  binl,  the 
0(1  impulse  again  escaped  iier  grasj). 

•  hook,  Le  (iardeur,"  said  she.     I  ler  delicate  ihiger  jiointed 
|a;  iViscus,  who  was  ascending  the  eastern  heavens  ;  "  there  is 
ly^iar.    Mere  Malheur,  —  you  know  her,    -  she  once  said  to 
UK  thai  that  was  mv  natal  .star,  which  would  rule  mv  life." 

.ik(  all  whose  passions  pilot  them,  .Angelicpie  belie\'ed  in 
Uoliny. 

A' (Iardeur  had  sipped  a  few  drops  of  the  cup  of  astrology 
li'iiii  ihr  venerable  Professor  X'alliiM-.  Angi'licjue's  linger 
p' nU'd  lo  the  star  .Mgol  that  strange,  mutable  star  that 
CiMii:;tM  Iroin  bright  to  il.iik  with  the  hours,  and  which  some 
i)i'i>VL'  changes  men's  hearts  to  stone. 
"Ml'ic  Nhdheur  lieil  I  "  exclaimed  he,  vilacing  his  arm 
iind  her.  as  if  to  protect  her  from  the  baleful  inlluence. 
r"^U  cursed  star  ne\ei  presided  o.er  Nour  birth,  Angc- 
I'liii^'!     That  is  the  demon  star  .Algol." 

An;;rlique  shudilereil,  ami  [)resseil  still  closer  to  him,  as  if 
111  luir. 


\\ 


182 


TflK    (iOLDEN    doc;. 


"Mere  Malheur  would  not  tell  me  the  meaninij;  of  iha; 
star,  but  bade  me,  if  a  saint,  to  watch  and  wait;  if  .1  siiiikr, 
to  watch  and  pray.  What  means  Algol,  Le  Oardeur  ?"  siic 
half  faltered. 

"  Nothing  for  you,  love.  A  lig  for  all  the  stars  in  the  .skv 
V'our  bright  eyes  outshine  them  all  in  radiance,  and  over- 
l)ower  them  in  influence.  .Ml  the  music  of  the  splica;)  ;> 
to  me  discord  compared  with  the  voice  of  Angeliciue  dcs 
Meloiscs,  whom  alone  I  love  ! " 

As  he  spoke  a  strain  of  heavenly  harmony  arose  fiom  ihc 
chapel  of  the  Convent  of  the  Ursulines,  where  thcv  were 
celel)rating  midnight  service  for  the  safet}-  of  New  1  rainc. 
Amid  the  sweet  voices  that  floated  up  on  the  nolo  of  ti.-r 
pealing  organ  was  clearly  distinguished  that  of  .Mere  .x. 
Borgia,  the  aunt  of  Angcli(iue,  who  led  the  choir  oi  \k:];\ 
In  trills  and  cadences  of  di\ine  melody  the  voice  of  }.[[■':■: 
St.  Borgia  rose  higher  and  higher,  like  a  sj^irit  mouiuin;^  the, 
skies.  The  words  were  intlistinct,  but  Angelicpie  knew  tikiii 
by  heart.  She  had  visited  her  aunt  in  the  Convent,  and  iud 
learned  Ih.e  new  hymn  composed  by  her  for  the  solemn 
occasion. 

.As  they  listened  with  quiet  awe  to  the  supplicating^  Mrai 
Angt'lit|ue  repeated  to  Le  Cardeur  the  words  of  the  liyiiiii 
it  was  sung  by  the  choir  of  nuns  : 

"  '  Snuteiiez,  giande  Keine, 
Notre  pauvre  pays ! 
11  est  votre  domaine, 
Faitcs  fleurir  nos  lis  ! 
L'Aiiglais  siir  nos  fioiiticres 
Porte  ses  c'teiidards  ; 
I'Aaiices  nos  prirres, 
I'rotej^e/.  nos  reniparts  !  '  " 

The  hymn  ceased.  Both  stood  mute  until  the  w aiclinu: I 
cried  the  hoin*  in  the  siU'ut  street. 

"God  bless  their  holy  prayers,  and  good-night  aiuld^: 
bless  you,  Angelique!"  said  Le  Cardeur,  kissing  lin.    Hd 
departed  suddenly,  leaving  a  gift  in  the  hand  of  Li/ittc,  wi^^ 
coiutesied  low  to  him  with  a  smile  of  pleasure  as  \\v  \k\>^'-'^1 
out,  while  Angeli(|ue  leaned  out  of  the  winilow  listniini: 
his  horse's  hoofs  until  the  last  tap  of  them  died  away  ju  I'fj 
stony  pavement. 


ANGELFQUE    DES    MELOISES. 


183 


She  threw  herself  upon  her  couch  and  wept  silently.  The 
soft  music  had  touched  her  feelings.  Le  Gardeur's  love  was 
like  a  load  of  gold,  crushing  her  with  its  weight.  She  could 
neither  carry  it  onward  nor  throw  it  olf.  She  fell  at  length 
into  a  shunber  filled  with  troubled  dreams.  She  was  in  a 
>iuulv  wilderness,  carrying  a  pitcher  of  clear,  cold  water,  and 
thoui^h  dying  of  thirst  she  would  not  drink,  but  perversely 
poured  it  upon  the  ground.  She  was  falling  down  into 
unfathomable  abysses  and  pushed  aside  the  only  hand 
stretched  out  to  save  her.  She  was  drowning  in  deep  water 
and  she  saw  Le  Gardeur  buffeting  the  waves  to  rescue  her 
but  -she  wrenched  herself  out  of  his  grasp.  She  would  not 
be  saved,  and  was  lost !  Her  couch  was  surrounded  with 
indetinite  shapes  of  embryo  evil. 

She  fell  asleep  at  last.  When  she  awoke  the  sun  was 
pouiinij;  in  her  windows.  A  fresh  breeze  shook  the  trees. 
rhe  l)irds  sang  gaily  in  the  garden.  The  street  was  alive 
and  stirring  with  people. 

It  was  broad  day.  Angeliciue  des  Meloises  was  herself 
aijaiii.  Her  day-dream  of  ambition  resumed  its  power. 
Her  nii;lu-dream  of  love  was  over.  Her  fears  vanished, 
her  hopes  were  all  alive,  and  .she  began  to  prepare  for  a 
possible  morning  call  from  the  Chevalier  Higot. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 


SPLENDIDE    MKNFMX. 


AMID  the  ruins  of  the  once  magnificent  palace  of  the 
Intendant,  massive  fragments  of  which  still  remain  to 
attest  its  former  greatness,  there  may  still  be  traced  the 
outline  of  the  room  where  Bigot  walked  restlessly  up  and 
down  the  morning  after  the  Council  of  War.  The  distiirbin:; 
letters  he  had  received  from  France  on  both  ]:)ul)lic  and 
private  affairs  irritated  him,  while  it  set  his  fertile  brain  ai 
work  to  devise  means  at  once  to  satisfy  the  Manjuise  dc 
Pompadour  and  to  ha\e  his  own  way  still. 

The  walls  of  his  cabinet  —  now  bare,  shattered,  and  roofless 
with  the  blasts  of  six  score  winters  —  were  hung  with  portraits 
of  ladies  and  statesmen  of  the  day ;  conspicuous  amon<; 
which  was  a  fine  picture  from  the  pencil  of  Vanloo  of  the 
handsome,  voluptuous  Marquise  de  Pompadour. 

With  a  world  of  faults,  that  celebrated  dame,  who  ruled 
France  in  the  name  of  Louis  XV.,  made  some  amends  In 
her  persistent  good  nature  and  her  love  for  art.  The 
painter,  the  architect,  the  sculptor,  and  above  all,  the  men 
of  literature  in  France,  were  objects  of  her  sincere  adinira 
tion,  and  her  patronage  of  them  was  generous  to  profusion 
The  picture  of  her  in  the  cabinet  of  the  Intendant  had  Ixei: 
a  work  of  gratitude  by  the  great  artist  who  painted  it.  ana 
was  presented  by  her  to  Bigot  as  a  mark  of  her  frirnd^hii 
and  demi-roval  favor.  The  cabinet  itself  was  furnished  in 
a  style  of  regal  magnificence,  which  the  Intendant  carried 
into  all  details  of  his  living. 

'I'he  Chevalier  de  Pean,  the  Secretary  and  confidential 
friend  of  the  Intendant,  was  writing  at  a  table.  Me  looked 
up  now  and  then  with  a  curious  glance  as  the  figure  of  h\> 
chief  moved  to  and  fro  with  cjuick  turns  across  the  room 
Hut  neither  of  them  spoke. 

iligot  would  have  been  cjuite  content  with  enriching;  hwiv 

.84 


ace  of  the 
remain  lo 
traced  the 
sly  up  and 
;  disturbin;; 
j:)ublic  and 
le  brain  ;U 
[anjuise  dc 

md  rootless 
ith  portraits 
3US  amono 
iloo  of  the 

,  who  ruled 
amends  In 

art.  Tlic 
11,  the  men 
lere  adinira- 

profusioii. 
t  had  heel 
iited  it.  am; 

frieiid^iil' 
urn i. shed  in 
ant  cariieii 

conlidentiai 
\lv.  iiioked 

murr  ot  lil> 
the  room 


MARQUISE   DE   POMPAnoUR, 


ichiiii:  hii''i- 


self  and  his  f 
courtly  sycopl 
Colony.     He 
which  he  was 

-nay,  iuivinjj 
whole  fabric  ( 
ever,  with  the 
formed  but  oi 
one  link  coiil 
followinjj;  tho; 
those  that  can 
i)f  morals,  Ui^ 
his  masters,  c 
himself. 

If  the  enon 
of  the  war  by 
sudden  I V  to  ce 
,1  severe  test. 
no  scruples. 
He  would    lig 
world  turned  i 

Bigot    suddi 
l)L'en  dwelling 
liie  mad  polio 
siiuck  him.     ] 

'•  I  )e  Fean  ! 
(-'hevalier  de 
and  loose  witl 
ice  and  sups 
lie  a  safe  partr 

"  I  hav^e  SI 
I'can.  "I.e  C 
'ihilily  hanging 
i;ame." 

"Just  so  !  ( 
luilf  haltered 
credit  to  you  ! 
walked  off  wi 
specimen  of  ii 
lias  salted  nv 
'"lined !  althoi 


SPLENPIDK    MENDAX. 


185 


self  and  his  friends,  and  turning  out  of  doors  the  crowd  of 
courtlv  sycophants  who  clamored  for  the  plunder  of  the 
Colonv.  He  had  sense  to  see  that  the  course  of  policy  in 
which  lie  was  embarked  might  eventually  ruin  New  France, 
—  nav.  having  its  origin  in  the  Court,  migiit  undermine  the 
whole  fabric  of  the  monarchy.  Me  consoled  himself,  how- 
ever, with  the  reflection  that  it  could  not  be  helped.  He 
formed  but  one  link  in  the  great  chain  of  corruption,  and 
one  link  could  not  stand  alone:  it  could  only  move  by 
following  those  which  went  before  and  dragging  after  it 
those  that  came  behind.  Without  debating  a  useless  point 
of  morals,  iJigot  quietly  resigned  himself  to  the  service  of 
his  masters,  or  rather  mistresses,  after  he  had  first  served 
himself. 

If  the  enormous  plunder  made  out  of  the  administration 
of  the  war  by  the  great  monopoly  he  had  established  were 
Muldenly  to  cea.se,  Bigot  felt  that  his  genius  would  be  put  to 
,1  severe  test.  Hut  he  had  no  misgivings,  because  he  had 
no  scruples.  He  was  not  the  man  to  go  under  in  any  storm. 
He  would  light  upon  his  feet,  as  he  expressed  it,  if  the 
Aorlcl  turned  upside  down. 

Bii,fot  suddenly  stopped  in  his  walk.  His  mind  had 
l)een  dwelling  upon  the  great  affairs  of  his  Intendancy  and 
ihc  mad  policy  of  the  Court  of  V^ersailles.  A  new  thought 
struck  him.     He  turned  and  looked  fixedly  at  his  Secretary. 

"  l)e  Pean  !  "  said  he.  "  We  have  not  a  sure  hold  of  the 
('hevalier  de  Repentigny  !  That  young  fellow  plays  fast 
and  loose  with  us.  One  who  dines  with  me  at  the  the  pal- 
ace and  sups  with  the  Philii)erts  at  the  Chien  d'Or  cannot 
lie  a  safe  partner  in  the  Grand  Company  !  " 

"  I  have  small  confidence  in  him,  either,"  replied  De 
lean.  "  Le  Gardeur  has  too  many  loose  ends  of  respect- 
cihiliiy  hanging  about  him  to  make  him  a  sure  hold  for  our 
game." 

'just  so!  Cadet,  Varin,  and  the  rest  of  you,  have  only 
hiilf  haltered  the  young  colt.  His  training  so  far  is  no 
credit  to  you !  The  way  that  cool  bully.  Colonel  Philibert, 
walked  off  with  him  out  of  I)eaumanoir,  was  a  sublime 
specimen  of  impudence.  Ha!  Ha!  The  recollection  of  it 
has  salted  my  meat  ever  since !  It  was  admirably  per- 
I'l'med !  although,    egad,  I  should  have    liked    to    run    my 


1 86 


THE    GOLDEN    UOG. 


riVi 


sword  through  Philibert's  ribs  !  and  not  one  of  you  all  waj 
man  enough  to  do  it  for  me !  " 

"  But  your  Excellency  gave  no  hint,  you  seemed  full  of 
politeness  towards  Philibert,"  replied  l)e  Pean,  with  ;i  ion. 
that  implied  he  would  have  done  it  had  Bigot  given  the 
hint. 

"  Zounds  !  as  if  I  do  not  know  it !  But  it  was  proxokin^' 
to  be  flouted,  so  politely  too,  by  that  whelp  of  the  (loklrr. 
Dog!  The  influence  of  that  Philibert  is  immense  o\cr 
young  l)e  Repentigny.  They  say  he  once  pulled  him  out  ui 
the  water,  and  is,  moreover,  a  suitor  of  the  sister,  a  charming 
girl,  l)e  IVan  !  with  no  end  of  money,  lands,  and  tamiiv 
power.  She  ought  to  be  secured  as  well  as  her  brother  in 
the  interests  of  the  Grand  Conijiany.  A  good  marriage 
with  one  of  our  party  would  secure  her,  and  none  of  you  (hw 
propose,  by  (lod  !  " 

"It  is  useless  to  think  of  proposing  to  her,"  replied  \k 
I'ean.  "  I  know  the  proud  min.x.  She  is  one  of  the  an-ciic 
ones  who  regard  marriage  as  a  thing  of  Heaven's  anaii^c 
ment.  She  believes  God  never  makes  but  one  man  for  (nic 
woman,  and  it  is  her  duty  to  marry  him  or  nobody.  It  h 
whispered  among  the  knowing  girls  who  went  to  .school  with 
her  at  the  Convent,  -  and  the  Convent  girls  do  know  even- 
thing  and  something  more,  that  she  always  cherished  ;i 
secret  affection  for  this  Philibert,  and  that  slie  will  uKiiiy 
him  some  day." 

"  Marry  Satan  !  Such  a  girl  as  that  to  marry  ;  cursed 
Philibert!"  l^igot  was  really  irritated  at  the  intoiiualidii. 
'*  I  think,"  .said  he,  "  women  are  ever  ready  to  .sail  in  ih' 
siiips  of  Tarshish,  so  long  as  the  cargo  is  gold,  silver,  ivory, 
apes,  and  peacocks!  It  speaks  ill  for  the  boasted  gallantry 
of  the  Grand  Comj^any  if  not  one  of  them  can  win  thisiiirl. 
If  we  could  gain  her  over  we  should  have  no  difiiculty  with 
the  brother,  and  the  point  is  to  secure  him." 

"There  is  but  one  way  I  can  see,  your  l'',.\cclk'ncy.' 
De  Pean  did  not  appear  to  make  his  suggestion  very 
cheerfully,  but  he  was  an.xious  to  please  the    Intendani. 

"How  is  that  .''"the  Intendant  asked  sharply,  lie  luul 
not  the  deepest  sen.se  of  De   Pean's  wisdom. 

"We  must  call  in  woman  to  fight  woman  in  the  interests 
of  the  Company,"  replied  the  Secretary. 


SPLENUIDE    MENDAX. 


187 


"  A  good  scheme  if  one  could  be  got  to  fight  and  win  ! 
I'lit  do  you  know  any  woman  who  can  lay  her  fingers  on 
Ix  (liudeur  de  Kepentigny  and  pull  him  out  from  among 
the  Ilonnefes   Gens  /  " 

•'  I  (!(),  your  Kxcellency.  1  know  the  very  one  can  do  it," 
replictl  Do  Pean  confidently. 

"  \  uu  do  !  Why  do  you  hesitate  then  ?  Have  you  any 
ivricrc  pnisec  that  keeps  \()u  from  telling  her  name  at 
uncc  ? "  asked  the   Intendant  impatiently. 

"It  is  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises.  She  can  do  it,  and 
no  oilier  woman  in  New  France  need  try!"  replied  I)e 
I'can. 

••Why,  she  is  a  clipper,  certainly!  Bright  eyes  like  hers 
ruif  the  world  of  fools  —and  of  wise  men,  too,"  added  Bigot 
in  ;i  i);uenthesi.s.  "  However,  all  the  world  is  caught  by 
tluU  bird-lime.  1  confess  I  never  made  a  fool  of  myself  but 
.1  woman  was  at  the  bottom  of  it.  lUit  for  one  who  has 
tiipi)ccl  me  up,  i  ha\e  taken  sweet  revenge  on  a  thousand. 
If  be  (lardeur  be  entangled  in  Nerea's  hair,  he  is  safe  in 
our  lolls.     J)o  you  think  Angelique  is  at  home,  De  Pean  .?  " 

The  Intendant  looked  up  at  the  clock,  it  was  the  usual 
hull'"  for  morning  calls  in  (Quebec. 

•'  Doubtless  she  is  at  home  at  this  hour,  your  IvKcellency," 
replied  De  I'ean.  "  J>ut  she  likes  her  bed,  as  other  pretty 
women  do,  and  is  practising  for  the  petite  /<7r<',  like  a 
duchess.      1   don't  suppose  she  is  up!" 

"1  don't  know  that,"  replied  Higot.  "A  greater  runagate 
in  prllicoals  there  is  not  in  the  whole  city  !  1  never  pass 
ihruugh  ihe  streets  but  I  see  her." 

''  Ay,  that  is  because  she  intends  to  meet  yoiu"  KAcel- 
li'iic)  ! '"  bigot  looked  sharply  at  De  I'ean.  A  new  thought 
tl.islu'd  in  his  eyes. 

"^\'hal!  think  you  she  makes  a  point  of  it,  De  I'ean?" 

"  I  tiiink  she  would  not  go  out  of  the  way  of  ycnu  l^.xcel- 
li^ncy."  De  l*ean  shufllccl  among  his  papers,  but  his  slight 
ajjiuuion  was  iioliced  by  the  Intendant. 

"llinn!  is  that  your  thought,  Dt;  Pe;in  ?  Looks  she  in 
this  (piarter?"  lUgot  meditated  with  his  hand  on  his  chin 
ftir  ;i  moment  or  two.  "  Vou  tliink  she  is  doulHless  at  home 
ihis  morning  ?"  added  he. 

"il  was  late  when   De  Repentigny  left  her  last  night,  and 


i88 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


ft> 


she  would  have  long  and  pleasant  dreams  after  that  visit,  1 
warrant,"  replied  the  Secretary. 

''How  do  you  know?  By  St.  Picot!  You  watch  her 
closely,    J)e   Fean  !" 

"  I  do,  your  Kxcellency :  I  have  reason,"  was  the  reply, 

l)e  Pean  did  not  say  what  his  reason  for  watching; 
Angelique  was;  neither  did  liigot  ask.  The  Intcndant 
cared  not  to  pry  into  the  personal  matters  of  his  friends. 
He  had  himself  too  much  to  conceal  not  to  respect  the 
secre*^s  of  his  associates. 

"Well,  l)e  l*ean !  I  will  wait  on  Mademoiselle  dcs 
Meloises  this  morning.  I  will  act  on  your  suggestion,  .ind 
trust  1  shall  not  find  her  unreasonable." 

"  1  hope  your  Excellency  will  not  find  her  unreasonable, 
but  I  know  you  will,  for  if  over  the  devil  of  contradiction 
was  in  a  woman  he  is  in  Angclicjue  des  Meloises!"  rei)lic(l 
1  )e  Pean  savagely,  as  if  he  spoke  from  some  experience  ot 
iiis  own. 

"  Well.  1  will  try  to  cast  out  that  devil  by  the  power  of  ,i 
still  stronger  one.      King  for  my  horse,  l)e  Pean  !" 

The  Secretary  obeyed  and  ordered  the  horse.  "  Mind, 
I)e  Pean!"  conlinueil  the  Intendant.  "The  IJoard  of  the 
(Irand  Company  meet  at  three  for  bu.siness  !  actual  hiisi 
ness  !  not  a  drop  of  wine  upon  the  table,  and  all  soIkt!  not 
even  Cadet  shall  come  in  if  he  shows  one  streak  of  the  ^rapc 
on  his  broad  face.  There  is  a  storm  of  peace  coming  over 
us,  and  it  is  necessary  to  shorten  sail,  take  soundings,  and 
see  where  we  are,  or  we  may  strike  on  a  rock." 

The  Intendant  left  the  palace  attended  by  a  couple  of 
equerries.  He  rode  through  the  palace  gate  and  into  the 
city.  Habilans  and  citizens  bowed  to  him  out  of  hahilual 
respect  for  their  superiors.  Pigot  returned  their  saluta 
tions  with  olficial  l)revity,  but  his  dark  face  broke  into 
sunshine  as  he  passed  ladies  and  citizens  whom  he  knew  a> 
partners  of  the  (Irand  Company  or  partizans  of  his  own 
faction. 

As  he  rode  rajiidly  through  the  streets  many  an  ill  wish 
followed  him,  until  he  dismounted  before  the  mansion  ot 
the  Des  Meloises. 

"As  r  live,  it  is  the  Royal  Intendant  himself,"  screamed 
Lizette,  as  she  ran,  out  of  breath,  to  inform  her  niistre>s. 


SPLENDIDE    MKNOAX. 


189 


who  was  sitting  alone  in  the  summer-house  in  the  garden 
behind  the  mansion,  a  pretty  spot  tastefully  laid  out  with 
riower  beds  and  statuary.  A  thick  hedge  of  privet,  cut  into 
fantastic  shapes  by  some  disciple  of  the  school  of  Le- 
notre,  screened  it  from  the  slopes  that  ran  up  towards  the 
<^reen  glacis  of  Cape  Diamond. 

.Viigclique  looked  beautiful  as  Hebe  the  golden-haired, 
as  she  sat  in  the  arbor  this  morning.  Her  light  morning 
dress  of  softest  texture  fell  in  graceful  folds  about  her 
exquisite  form.  She  held  a  Book  of  Hours  in  her  hand,  but 
she  IkuI  not  once  opened  it  since  she  sat  down.  Her  dark 
eves  h)()kecl  not  soft,  nor  kindly,  but  bright,  defiant,  wanton, 
and  even  wicked  in  their  expression,  like  the  eyes  of  an 
Aral)  steed,  whipped,  spurred,  and  brought  to  a  desjierate 
leap  it  may  clear  the  wall  before  it,  or  may  dash  itself 
dead  against  the  stones.  Such  was  the  temper  of  Angiilique 
diis  morning. 

fhud  thoughts  and  many  respecting  the  Lady  of  lleau- 
manoir,  fond  almost  savage  regret  at  her  meditated  rejection 
(if  I)e  Kepentigny,  glittering  images  of  the  royal  Intendant 
and  of  the  splendors  of  Versailles,  passed  in  rapid  succession 
through  her  brain,  forming  a  phantasmagoria  in  which  she 
colored  e\'ery thing  according  to  her  own  fancy.  The  words 
of  her  maid  roused  her  in  an  instant. 

"Admit  the  Intendant  and  show  him  into  the  garden, 
Lizelte.  Now!"  said  she,  "I  shall  end  my  doubts  about 
that  lady!  1  will  test  the  Intendant's  sincerity, — cold, 
calculating  woman-slayer  that  he  is!  It  shames  me  to 
contra-it  his  half-heartedness  with  the  perfect  adoration  of 
my  handsome   Le  (Jardeur  de    Repentigny!" 

The  Intendant  entered  the  garden.  Angeli(|ue,  with  that 
coin|)lete  self-control  which  distinguishes  a  woman  of  half  a 
heart  or  no  heart  at  all,  changed  her  whole  demeanor  in 
a  moment  from  gravity  to  gayety.  Her  eyes  llashed  out 
pleasure,  and  her  dimples  went  and  came,  as  she  welcomed 
the  Intendant  to  her  arbor. 

"A  friend  is  never  so  welcome  as  when  he  comes  of  his 
own  accord!"  said  she,  presenting  hei  hand  to  the  Intend- 
'int.  wiio  look  it  with  empressement.  She  matle  room  for 
liini  on  the  seat  beside  her,  dashing  her  skirts  aside  some- 
what ostentatiously. 


190 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


Bigot  looked  at  her  admiringly.  He  thought  he  liad 
never  seen,  in  painting,  statuary,  or  living  form,  a  more 
beautiful  and  fascinating  woman. 

Angcli(iue  accepted  his  admiration  as  her  due,  feeling  no 
thanks,  but  looking  many. 

"  The  Chevalier  IJigot  does  not  lose  his  politeness,  how- 
ever long  he  absents  himself !  "  said  she,  with  a  glance  likt 
a  Parthian  arrow  well  aimed  to  strike  home. 

"  I  have  been  hunting  at  Beaumanoir,"  replied  he  extcn- 
uatingly ;  "  that  must  explain,  not  excuse,  my  apparent  ne;^- 
lect."  Bigot  felt  that  he  had  really  been  a  loser  by  hi> 
absence. 

"Hunting!  indeed!"  Angelique  affected  a  toucli  of 
surjirise,  as  if  she  had  not  known  every  tittle  of  gossip  abom 
the  gay  party  and  all  their  doings  at  the  Chateau.  "  Tliev 
say  game  is  growing  scarce  near  the  city,  Chevalier,"  con 
tinned  she  nonchalantly,  "and  that  a  hunting  parly  at 
Ijeaumanoir  is  but  a  pretty  metonomy  for  a  party  of  plea.v 
ure  :  is  that  true  ?  " 

"  Quite  true,  mademoiselle,"  replied  he,  laughing.  "Tlk- 
two  things  are  perfectly  compatible, — like  a  brace  of  luveix 
all  the  better  for  being  made  one." 

"  Very  gallantly  said ! "  retorted  she,  with  a  ripple  of 
dangerous  laughter.  "  1  will  carry  the  con.parisoii  no 
farther.  Still,  1  wager,  Chevalier,  that  the  game  is  not 
worth  the  hunt." 

"  The  play  is  always  worth  the  candle,  in  my  fancy,"  said 
he,  with  a  glance  of  meaning;  "but  there  is  really  good 
game  yet  in  Ijeaumanoir,  as  you  will  confess,  Mademoisclk', 
if  you  will  honor  our  party  some  day  with  your  presence." 

"Come  now.  Chevalier,"  replied  she,  fixing  him  niiv 
chievously  with  her  eyes,  "  tell  me,  what  game  do  vdii  find 
in  the  forest  of   Beaumanoir  ? " 

"  Oh  !  rabbits,  hares,  and  deer,  with  now  and  then  a 
rough  bear  to  try  the  mettle  of  our  chasseurs." 

"What!  no  foxes  tt)  cheat  foolish  crows?  no  wolves  to 
devour  pretty  Red  Riding  Hoods  straying  in  the  h)a'si' 
Come,  Chevalier,  there  is  better  game  than  all  that,"  said 
she. 

*'  Oh,  yes  ! "  —  he  half  surmised  she  was  rallying  him  now 
—  "plenty,  but  we  don't  wiml  horns  after  them." 


SI'LENDIDK    IM1:M)AX. 


191 


"  They  say,"  continued  she,  "  there  is  much  fairer 
ame  tlian  bird  or  beast  in  the  forest  of  IJeaumanoir.  Che- 
viilier."  She  went  on  recklessly,  "  Stray  lambs  are  picked 
up  by  intendants  sometimes,  and  carried  tenderly  to  the 
(bateau !  The  Intendant  comprehends  a  gentleman's  de- 
voirs [o  our  sex,  I  am  sure." 

I)i^^(jl  understood  her  now,  and  gave  an  angry  start. 
Angeliciue  did  not  shrink  from  the  temper  she  had  evoked. 

"Heavens!  how  you  look,  Chevalier!"  said  she,  in  a 
tone  of  half  banter.  ''  One  would  think  1  had  accused  you 
of  murder  instead  of  saving  a  fair  lady's  life  in  the  forest  ; 
although  woman-killing  is  no  murder  I  believe,  by  the  laws 
(if  jjalhmtry,  as  read  by  gentlemen — of  fashion." 

Hif^ot  rose  up  with  a  hasty  gesture  of  impatience  and  sat 
down  aj^Min.  After  all,  he  thought,  what  could  this  girl  know 
about  Caroline  de  St.  Castin  ?  He  answered  her  with  an 
appearance  of  frankness,  deeming  that  to  be  the  best 
policy. 

■'  ^'es,  Mademoiselle,  I  one  day  found  a  poor  suffering 
woman  in  the  forest.  I  took  her  to  the  Chateau,  where  she 
now  is.  Manv  ladies  beside  her  have  been  to  IJeaumanoir. 
Many  more  will  yet  come  and  go,  until  I  end  my  bachelor- 
ilom  and  place  one  there  in  perpetuity  as  '  mistress  of  my 
heart  and  home,'  as  the  song  says." 

An^elique  could  coquette  in  half-meanings  with  any  lady 
(if  honor  at  Court.  "  Well,  Chevalier,  it  will  be  your  fault 
not  to  find  one  fit  to  place  there.  They  walk  every  street  of 
of  the  city.  Ikit  they  say  this  lost  and  found  lady  is  a 
>transer  ? " 

"  To  me  she  is  —  not  to  you,  perhaps.  Mademoiselle  !  " 

The  tine  ear  of  Angeliquti  detected  the  strain  of  hypocrisy 
in  his  speech.  It  touched  a  sensitive  nerve.  She  spoke 
Iniltilv  now. 

"  Some  say  she  is  your  wife,  Chevalier  liigot  !  "  An- 
,j;ch(iue  gave  vent  to  a  feeling  long  pent-up.  She  who 
Hilled  with  men's  hearts  every  day  was  indignant  at  the 
icast  symptom  of  repayment  in  kind.  "  They  say  she  is 
VDiir  wife  or,  if  not  your  wife,  she  ought  to  be,  Chevalier,  — 
;tnd  will  be,  perhaps,  one  of  these  fine  days,  when  you  have 
wearied  of  the  distres.sed  damsels  of  the  city." 

It  had  been  better  for  Higot,  better  for  Angelique,  that 


192 


THE    (iOLDKN    DOG. 


these  two  could  have  frankly  understood  each  other.  liijrnt 
in  his  sudden  admiration  of  the  beauty  of  this  girl,  forgot  that 
his  object  in  coming  to  see  her  had  really  been  to  |)ioiiiotc 
a  marriage,  in  the  interests  of  the  Grand  Company,  l)L'i\vcen 
her  and  Le  Gardeur.  Her  witcheries  had  been  too  ])()tent 
for  the  man  of  pleasure.  He  was  himself  caught  in  the  net 
he  spread  for  another.  'I'he  adroit  bird-catching  of  An- 
gelique  was  too  much  for  him  in  the  beginning  :  IJigot'stact 
and  consummate  heartlessness  with  women,  might  he  too 
much  for  her  in  the  end.  At  the  present  moment  he  was 
fairly  dazzled  with  her  beauty,  spirit,  and  seductiveness, 

"  I  am  a  simple  quail,"  thought  he,  "to  be  caught  l)v  her 
piping.  J\ir  Dim  !  I  am  going  to  make  a  fool  of  myself  if 
I  do  not  take  care  !  Such  a  woman  as  this  I  have  not  found 
between  Paris  and  Naples.  The  man  who  gets  her.  and 
knows  how  to  use  her,  might  be  Prime  Minister  of  I'rancc, 
And  to  fancy  it — 1  came  here  to  pick  this  sweet  chestiii;; 
out  of  the  fire  for  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  !  ^'^;lllH,i^ 
Bigot !  as  a  man  of  gallantry  and  fashion  1  am  ashamed  ol 
you  !  " 

These  were  his  thoughts,  but  in  words  he  replied.  "  The 
lady  of  Beaumanoir  is  not  my  wife,  perhaps  never  will  be." 
Angelique's  eager  question  fell  on  very  unproductive  ground. 

Angelique  repeated  the  word  superciliously.  "  '  rerhaps!' 
*  Perhaps'  in  the  mouth  of  a  woman  is  consent  half  won: 
in  the  mouth  of  a  man  I  know  it  has  a  laxer  meaning.  Love 
has  nothing  to  say  to  '  perhaps  ' :  it  is  will  or  shall,  and 
takes  no  'perhaps'  though  a  thousand    times  repeated! 

'*  And  you  intend  to  marry  this  treasure  trove  of  the 
forest  —  perhaps?"  continued  Angelique,  tapping  the 
ground  with  a  dantier  foot  than  the  Intendant  had  ever 
seen  before. 

"  It  depends  much  on  you.  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises." 
said  he.  "  Had  you  been  my  treasure-trove,  there  had  been 
no  'perhaps'  about  it."  Pigot  spoke  bluntly,  and  to  An- 
gelique it  sounded  like  sincerity.  Her  dreams  were  accom- 
plished. She  trembled  with  the  intensity  of  her  graliiication, 
and  felt  no  repugnance  at  his  familiar  address. 

The  Intendant  held  out  his  hand  as  he  uttered  the  dulcet  1 
flattery,  and  she  placed  her  hand  in  his,  but  it  was  coKl  ^hkI 
passionless.     Her  heart  did  not  send  the  blood  leapiii;^  iiit'^| 


SPLENDIDE    MI:NDAX. 


193 


her  finger-ends  as  when  they  were  held  in  the  loving  grasp 
I  of  Le  (iardeur. 

Angclique  !  "  said  he.      It  was  the  first  time  the  Intend- 

janilKKl  called  her  by  her  name.     vShe  started.     It  was  the 

unlocking  of  his  heart  she  thought,  and  she  looked  at  him 

with  a  smile  which  she  had  practised  with  infallible  effect 

[upon  many  a  foolish  admirer. 

"Angclic[ue,    I    have   seen   no  woman  like   you,   in   New 
France  or  in  Old;  you  are  fit  to  adorn  a  Court,  and  I  predict 
iyoiiwill-if  — if— " 

••  If  what.  Chevalier  ^ "  Her  eyes  fairly  blazed  with 
ivanitv  and  pleasure.  "Cannot  one  adorn  Courts,  at  least 
ll'rLiich  (  ourts,  without  if's  ?  " 

Vou  can,  if  you  choose  to  do  so,"  replied  he,  looking  at 
Ihtr  admiringly ;  for  her  whole  countenance   flashed  intense 
pleasure  at  his  remark. 

If  I  choose  to  do  so .''  I  do  choose  to  do  so !  Hut  who 
li>t()  show  me  the  way  to  the  Court,  Chevalier.''  It  is  a  long 
land  weary  distance  from  New  France." 

'■]  will  show  you  the  way,  if  you  will   permit  me,  Ange- 
liquc :  \'crsailles  is  the  only  fitting  theatre  for  the  display  of 
Ibcauiy  and  spirit  like  yours." 

Angelique  thoroughly  believed  this,  and  for  a  few  mo- 
Inieiits  was  dazzled  and  overpowered  by  the  thought  of  the 
Igolclen  doors  of  her  ambition  opened  by  the  hand  of  the 
llntcndant.  A  train  of  images,  full-winged  and  as  gorgeous 
las  birds  of  paradise.  Hashed  across  her  visi(;n.  La  Pompa- 
Idour  was  getting  old,  men  said,  and  the  King  was  already 
Icasting  his  eves  rountl  the  circle  of  more  vouthfu.l  beauties 
lin  his  Court  for  a  successor.  "And  what  woman  in  the 
jworid."  thought  she,  "  could  vie  with  Angeli(|ue  des  Meloises 
jit'^he  chose  to  enter  the  arena  to  sui^plant  La  I'ompadour  } 
jNavjaore !  If  the  prize  of  the  King  were  her  lot,  she  would 
joiitdo  La  Maintenon  herself,  and  end  by  sitting  on  tlie 
Itlirune." 

Angcliciue  was  not,  however,  a  milkmaid  to  say  yes  before 
Islie  was  asked.     She  knew  her  value,  and  had  a  natural  dis- 
bst  of  the    Intendant's  gallant   speeches.     Moreover,    the 
liadow  of  the  lady  of   l»eaumanoir  would  not  wholly  disap- 
"Why  do  you  say  such  flattering  things  to  me,  (!he- 


pfar. 


M 


■?"  asked  she.     "One  takes  them  for  earnest  coming 


194 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


from  the  Royal  Intenclant.  You  should  leave  trifling  to  the 
idle  young  men  of  the  city,  who  have  no  business  to  emplm 
them  but  gallanting  us  women." 

"Trifling!  By  St.  Jeanne  de  Choisy,  I  was  never  murt 
in  earnest,  Mademoiselle  !  "  exclaimed  Bigot.  "  I  offer  voj 
the  entire  devotion  of  my  heart."  St.  Jeanne  de  Choisv  w^ 
the  sobriquet  in  the  />i'///s  appartcmatts  for  La  Poiii]ia(loir 
Ange'lique  knew  it  very  well,  although  Bigot  thought  she  dn! 
not. 

"  Fair  words  are  like  flowers,  Chevalier,"  replied  >ht„ 
"  sweet  to  smell  and  pretty  to  look  at ;  but  love  feeds  on  ript 
fruit.  Will  you  prove  your  devotion  to  me  if  I  put  ii  to  ilu 
test .? " 

"  Most  willingly,  Ange'lique  !  "  Bigot  thought  she  con 
templated  some  idle  freak  that  might  try  his  gallantry,  per- 
haps his  purse.     But  she  was  in  earnest,  if  he  was  not. 

"I  ask,  then,  the  C'hevalier  Bigot  that  before  he  speaks  to 
me  again  of  love  or  devotion,  he  shall  remove  that  huh, 
whoever  she  may  be,  from  Beaumanoir!"  Angeli(|ue  mi 
erect,  and  looked  at  him  with  a  long,  fixed  look,  as  slie  said 
this. 

"Remove  that  lady  from  Beaumanoir!"  exclaimed  he  in i 
complete  surprise  ;  "  surely  that  poor  shadow  does  not  prevcir.  | 
your  accepting  my  devotion,  Ange'lique  ?  " 

"Yes,  but  it  does.  Chevalier!  1  like  bold  men.  Mot  I 
women  do,  but  I  did  not  think  that  even  the  Intendant  of 
New  France  was  bold  enough  to  make  love  to  AngcHqueck- 
Meloises  while  he  kept  a  wife  or  mistress  in  stately  sechision| 
at  Beaumanoir  !  " 

Bigot  cursed  the  shrewishness  and  innate  jealousy  of  the  I 
sex,  which  would  not  content  itself  with  just  so  much  of  a 
man's  favor  as  he  chose  to  bestow,  but  must  ever  want  to 
rule  single  and  alone.     "  Every  woman  is  a  despot,"  thought  j 
he,  "  and  has  no  mercy  upon  pretenders  to  her  throne. ' 

"That  lady,"  replied  he,  "is  neither  wife   nor  mistre>s,| 
Mademoiselle :   she  sought  the   shelter  of  my   roof  with  a 
claim  upon  the  hospitality  of  Beaumanoir." 

"  No  doubt  " —  Ang(flique's  nostril   quivered   witli  a  tinej 
disdain  — "  the  hospitality  of   Beaumanoir  is  as  broad  a 
comprehensive  as  its  master's  admiration  for  our  sex  ! "  saidi 
she. 


Itruth  in  sucli  mj 


splendidp:  mfndax. 


195 


Bijjot   was    not    angry.      He    gave   a   loud  laugh.     "  Vou 
women   are    merciless    upon    each    other,    Mademoiselle ! " 

>,u(l  he. 

•Men  are  more  merciless  to  women  when  they  beguile 
[US  with  insincere  professions,"  replied  she,  rising  up  in  well- 
I affected  indignation. 

"Xot  so,  Mademoiselle!"      Bigot  began   to  feel  annoyed. 
•That  lady  is  nothing  to  me,"  said  he,  without  rising  as  she 
Ih.ul  done.      He  kept  his  seat. 

Hut  she  has  been  !  you  have  loved  iier  at  some  time  or 
Inther  I  and  she  is  now  living  on  the  scraps  and  leavings  of 
fiirmcr  affection.      I   am    never  deceived,  Chevalier  !  "  con- 
tinued she,  glancing  down  at  him.  a  wild  light  playing  under 
Iherlong  eyelashes  like  the  illumined  under-edgeof  a  thunder- 
Iduiid. 

I)Ut  iiow  in  St.  Picot's  name  did  you  arrive  at  all  this 
Iknowledge,  Mademoiselle  ? "  Bigot  began  to  see  that  there 
Iwcis  nothing  for  it  but  to  comply  with  every  caprice  of  this 
|incomprehensible  girl  if  he  would  carry  his  point. 

Oh.  nothmg  is  easier  than  for  a  woman  to  divine  the 
Itriith  in  sucli  matters,  Chevalier,"  said  she.  "  It  is  a  sixth 
Isciise  given  to  our  sex  to  protect  our  weakness  :  no  man  can 
jiiuke  love  to  two  women  but  each  of  them  knows  instinct- 
jivcly  to  her  fmger-tips  that  he  is  doing  it." 

"Surely  woman  is  a  beautiful  book  written  in  golden  let- 
[ters.  but  in  a  tongue  as  hard  to  understand  as  hieroglyp'"''"'^ 
of  Kjiypt."  Bigot  was  quite  puzzled  how  to  proceed  \ 
tliis  incomprehensible  girl. 
"Thanks  for  the  comparison.  Chevalier,"  replied  she, 
nth  a  huigh.  "  It  would  not  do  for  men  to  scrutinize  us 
loo  closely,  yet  one  woman  reads  another  easily  as  a  horn- 
])ijiik  of  Troyes,  which  they  say  is  so  easy  that  the  children 
itu\  it  without  learning." 

To  boldly  set  at  defiance  a  man  who  had  boasted  a  long 
tareer  of  success  was  the  way  to  rouse  his  pride,  and 
pctcrminc  him  to  overcome  her  resistance.  Angelique  was 
hot  mistaken,  liigot  saw  her  resolution,  and,  although  it 
ps  \vit!i  a  mental  reservation  to  deceive  her,  he  promised 
b.inish  Caroline  from  his  chateau. 

"It  was  always  my  good  fortune  to  be  concjuered  in  every 
passage  of  arms  with  your  sex,  Angelique,"  said  he,  at  once 


I  'I 


196 


THE    GOLDEN    IXXi. 


radiant  and    submissive.      "Sit  down    by   me   in  token  of 
an^ity." 

She  complied  without  hesiiaticjn.  and  sat  down   bv  him 
gave  him  her  hand  again,  and   replied   with  an   arch  smii 
while  a  thousand  inimitable  coquetries  played  about  liereve<| 
and  I'ps,   "  \'ou  speak   now  like  an  lUiuxnt  )nagn/ji(/ii,\  Che- 
valier ! 

"  'Quelque  fort  qu'oii  s'cn  defende, 
II  y  fiiut  veiiir  an  jour  ! '  " 


"  It  is  a  bargain  henceforth  and  f(;rever,  An_i;cliqr,L':' 
said  he;  "but  I  am  a  harder  man  than  you  iniaginr  :  1  -1,. 
nothing  for  nothing,  and  all  for  everything.  Will  nou  om 
sent  to  aid  me  and  the  Grand  Company  in  a  iii.itlcr  (;| 
importance  .'' " 

"Will  I  not  .-*     What  a  question,  C'hevalier  !     Most  will 
ingly  I  will   aid  you  in  anything  proper  for  a  lady  to  do! 
added  she,  with  a  touch  of  irony. 

"I  wish  you  to  do  it,  right  or  wrong,  proper  or  iiiipidptr.i 
although  there  is  no  impiopiieiy  in  it.  Improper  IjccciudI 
proper  if  you  do  it,  Mademoiselle  !  " 

"Well,    what  is  it.  Chevalier, — this  fearful  test  to  niMvn 
my  loyalty  to  the  Grand  Company,  and  which  makes  yoi; 
such  a  matchless  flatterer  ?  " 

"Just  this,  Angelique  !  "  replied  he.  "You  have  much] 
influence  with  the   Seigneur  de   Repenligny  ? " 

Ange'lique  colored  up  to  the  eyes.     '*  With   Le  (iaideiir: 
What  of  him  ?     I  can  take  no  part  against  the  Seigneur  dej 
Repentigny  ;  "  said  she,  hastily. 

"  Against  him  ?  For  him  !  We  fear  much  that  he  i^l 
about  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  Hoiuietcs  Gens  :  you  can  I 
prevent  it  if  you  will,  Angelique  t  " 

"  I    have  an   honest   regard  for  the   Seigneur  df  Rt-pt'! 
tigny  ! ''  said  she,  more  in  answer  to  her  own  feelintjjs  thanj 
to  tiie  Intendant's  remark       her  cheek   flushed,  1km   ruiLjir- 
twitched  nervously  at  her  fan,  which  she  broke  in  her  .l^ita•| 
tion  and  threw  the  pieces  vehemently  upon  the  ground.    "I[ 
have  done  harm  enough  to  Le  (Jardeur  1  fear,"  rotUinued 
she.      "  I    had    better    not    interfere    with    him    aii\    uHne. 
Who    knows   what    might    result  ? "  She   looked    up  almost 
warningly  at  the   Intendant. 


SPLF.NDIDK    MKNDAX. 


197 


"I  am  glad  to  find  you  so  sincere  a  friend  to  Le  (iar- 
dtiir."  reiiuirked  IJigot,  craftily.  "  Vou  will  be  glad  to  learn 
that  our  intention  is  to  elevate  him  to  a  high  and  lucrative 
office  in  the  administration  of  the  Company,  unless  the 
11,'itiitii's   Gens  are  before  us  in  gaining  full  possession  of 

him." 

■  They  shall  not  be  before  us  if  I  can  prevent  it,  Cheva- 
[l;er."  replied  she,  warmly.     She  was  indeed  grateful  for  the 
implied  compliment  to  Le  Gardeur.     *'  No  one  will  be  better 
plt;a.>>e(l  at  his  good  fortune  than  myself." 

•I  liiought  so.  It  was  partly  my  business  to  tell  you  of 
lour  intentions  towards  Le  Clardeur." 

"Indeed  !"  replied  she,  in  a  tone  of  pique.  "I  flattered 
imyselt  your  visit  was  all  on  my  own  account,  Chevalier." 

••So  it  was."      I>igot  felt  himself  on   rather  soft  ground. 
Vour  brother,  the  Chevalier  des    Meloises,  has  doubtless 
IcuiiMilted  you  upon  the  plan  of  life  he  has  sketched  out  for 
|bothofyou?" 

•■  My  good  brother  sketches  so  many  plans  of  life  that  I 
I  really  am  not  certain  I  know  the  one  you  refer  to."  She 
Laicssed  what  was  coming,  and  held  her  breath  hard  until 
[she  heard  the  reply. 

•Well,  you  of  course  know  that  his  plan  of  life  depends 
Imainly  upon  an  alliance  between  yourself  and  the  Chevalier 
|(ie  Repentigny." 

She  gave  vent  to   her   anger   and  disappointment.     She 

|n)be  up  suddenly,  and,  grasping  the  Litendant's  arm  fiercely, 

lurned   him    half    round    in    her    vehemence.       "  Chevalier 

lli;^ot !  did  you  come  here  to  propose  for  me  on  behalf  of 

Lo  Gardeur  de   Repentigny  ,''  " 

"Pardon   me,  ALidemoiselle;  it  is   no   proposal   of  mine, 

on  behalf  of  Le  Cardeur.  I  sanctioneil  his  promotion. 
iVour  brother,  and  the  (}rand  Company  generally,  would 
jprd'er  the  alliance.  I  don't ! ''  He  said  this  with  a  tone 
lof  meaning  which  Aiigeliciue  was  acute  enough  to  see  im- 
jplicd  bigot's  unwillingness  to  her  ?narrying  any  man  -  but 
jhimscU,  was  the  addendum  she  at  once  jDlaced  to  his  credit. 
iei,ML't  I  mentioned  it,"  continued  he,  blandly,  "  if  it  be 
|cuiitiary  to  your  wishes." 

"U  is  contrary  to  my  wishes,"  replied  she,  rela.xing  her 
Iclutch  of  his  arm.     "  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  can  speak 


198 


THE    GULDEN    DOG. 


for  himself.  I  will  not  allow  even  my  brother  to  suuij^fest  it 
still  less  will  I  discuss  such  a  subject  with  the  ('huvalier 
Bigot." 

"  I  hope  you  will  pardon  me,  Mademoiselle  —  I  will  not 
call  you  Angelicjue  until  you  are  i)leased  with  nie  attain. 
To  be  sure,  1  should  never  have  forgiven  you  had  you  con- 
formed to  your  brother's  wishes.  It  was  what  1  fcaid 
might  happen,  and  I —  I  wished  to  try  you  ;  that  was  all: 

"  It  is  dangerous  trying  me,  Chevalier,"  replied  sjie, 
resuming  her  seat  with  some  heat.  "  Don't  try  mc  a^ain, 
or  I  shall  take  Le  Gardeur  out  of  pure  spik',"'  she  said, 
Pure  love  was  in  her  mind,  but  the  other  word  canic  (loiii 
her  lips.  "  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  rescue  him  from  the  Hon- 
netcs  Gc/is,  but  not  by  marrying  him,  Chevalier,  —  at  present.' 

They  seemed  to  understand  each  other  fully.  "  It  is  ovc; 
with  now,"  said  Bigot.  "  I  swear  to  you,  Angelique,  I  did 
not  mean  to  offend  you,  —  you  cut  deep." 

"  Pshaw  !  "  retorted  she,  smiling,  "  VVounds  by  a  ladv 
are  easily  cured  :  they  seldom  leave  a  mark  behind,  a  monili 
after." 

"  I  don't  know  that.  The  slight  repulse  of  a  lady's  fmj;er 
—  a  touch  that  would  not  crush  a  gnat  —  will  sometimes 
kill  a  strong  man  like  a  sword-stroke.  I  have  known  suciil 
things  to  happen,"  said  Bigot. 

"Well,   happily,  my  touch    has  not   hurt   you.  Chevalier, j 
But,  having  vindicated  myself,  1  feel  I  owe  you  reparalioii. 
You  speak  of  rescuing  Le  Gardeur  from  the  Jloinieta  Gem. 
In  what  way  can  I  aid  you  ? " 

"  In  many  ways  and  all  ways.  Withdraw  him  from  them 
The  great  festival  at  the  Philiberts —  w^hen  is  it  to  i)e?  " 

"  IVmorrow  !  See,  they  have  honored  me  with  a  special 
invitation."  She  drew  a  note  from  her  pocket.  "Thisi>. 
very  polite  of  Colonel   Philibert,  is  it  not?"  said  she. 

Bigot  glanced  superciliously  at  the  note.  "  Do  you  mean 
to  go,  Angelique  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  No ;  altliough,  had  1  no  feelings  but  my  own  to  consult, 
I  would  certainly  go." 

"  Whose  feelings  do  you  consult,  Angelique,"  asked  the| 
Intendant,  "  if  not  your  own  1  " 

"  Oh,  don't  be  flattered,  —  the  Grand  Company's  !    I  ;i 
loyal  to  the  association  without  respect  to  persons." 


for  herself,  and 


SPLENDIDE    MENDAX. 


199 


"  So  much  the  better,"  said  he.  "  By  the  way,  it  would 
not  be  amiss  to  keep  Le  Gardeur  away  from  the  festival. 
These  IMiiliberts  and  the  heads  of  the  Honnetes  Gens  have 
f^reat  sway  over  him." 

"Xati  rally;  they  are  all  his  own  kith  and  kin.  But  I 
will  draw  him  away,  if  you  desire  it.  I  cannot  prevent  his 
t^oing,  l)ut  I  can  find  means  to  prevent  his  staying  !  "  added 
she.  with  \  smile  of  confidence  in  her  power. 

•Tliiit  will  do,  Angelique,  —  anything  to  make  a  breach 
between  them  !  " 

While  there  were  abysses  in  Bigot's  mind  which  Ange- 
lique could  not  fathom,  as  little  did  Bigot  suspect  that,  when 
Angelicjue  seemed  to  fiatter  him  by  yielding  to  his  sugges- 
tions, she  was  following  out  a  course  she  had  already  decided 
upon  in  her  own  mind  from  the  moment  she  had  learned 
that  Cecile  Tourangeau  was  to  be  at  the  festival  of  Belmont, 
with  unlimited  opportunities  of  explanation  with  Le  Gardeur 
as  to  her  treatment  by  Angelique. 

riie  Intendant,  after  some  pleasant  badinage,  rose  and 
tojk  his  departure,  leaving  Angelique  agitated,  puzzled,  and 
dissatisfied,  on  the  whole,  with  his  visit.  She  reclined  on 
the  seat,  resting  her  head  on  her  hand  for  a  long  time,  —  in 
appearance  the  idlest,  in  reality  the  busiest,  brain  of  any 
girl  in  the  city  of  Quebec.  She  felt  she  had  much  to  do, — 
ajjreat  sacrifice  to  make,  —  but  firmly  resolved,  at  whatever 
cost,  to  go  through  with  it ;  for,  after  all,  the  sacrifice  was 
for  herself,  and  not  for  others. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 


THE    MEROVINGIAN    PRINCESS. 


THE  interior  of  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Marie  seemed  like 
another  world,  in  comparison  with  the  noisy,  bustliiii; 
Market  Place  in  front  of  it. 

The  garish  sunshine  poured  hot  and  oppressive  in  the 
square  outside,  but  was  shorn  of  its  strength  as  it  passed 
through  the  painted  windows  of  the  Cathedral,  filling  ihc 
vast  interior  with  a  cool,  dim,  religious  light,  broken  hv  tall 
shafts  of  columns,  which  swelled  out  into  ornate  capitak 
supporting  a  lofty  ceiling,  on  which  was  painted  the  open 
heavens  with  saints  and  angels  adoring  the  Lord. 

A  lofty  arch  of  cunning  work  overlaid  with  gold,  the  mas- 
terpiece of  Le  Vasseur,  spanned  tiie  chancel,  like  the  rain- 
bow round  the  throne.  Lights  were  burninii  on  the  altar. 
incense  went  up  in  spirals  to  tlu  roof;  and  throuuih  the 
wavering  cloud  the  saints  and  angels  seemed  to  look  down 
with  living  faces  upon  the  crowd  of  worshippers  who  kiult 
upon  the  broad  Hoor  of  the  church. 

It  was  the  hour  of  Vespers.  The  voice  of  the  priest  was 
answered  by  the  deep  peal  of  the  organ  and  the  chaiitiii;,' 
of  the  choir.  The  vast  edifice  was  tilled  with  harmony,  in 
the  pauses  of  which  the  ear  seemed  to  catch  the  souml  of  the 
river  of  life  as  it  Hows  out  of  the  throne  of  God  and  tlie 
Lamb. 

The  demeanor  of  the  crowd  of  worshippers  was  (|iiict  and 
reverential.  A  few  gay  groups,  however,  whose  octupatinn 
was  mainly  to  see  and  be  seen,  exchanged  the  idle  gossipol 
the  day  with  such  of  their  friends  as  ihey  met  llu'ic  Thf 
fee  of  a  prayer  or  two  did  not  seem  excessive  for  the  |)K'i>- 
ure.  and  it  was  soon  paid. 

The  perron  outside  was  a  favorite  resort  of  tlie  ^allaiit^ 
of  fashion  at  llie  hour  of  N'cspcrs,  who.se  practice  it  was  le 
salute  the  ladies  of  their  acquaintance  at  the  door  hy  sprin- 

200 


TIIK    MKROVINC.IAN     I'RIXCK.SS. 


20I 


klinii  their  dainty  fingers  with  holy  water.  Religion  com- 
bined with  gallantry  is  a  form  of  devotion  not  quite  obsolete 
at  the  jjresent  day,  and  at  the  same  place. 

The  church  door  was  the  recognized  spot  for  meeting,  gos- 
sip, business,  love-making,  and  announcements  ;  old  friends 
stopped  to  talk  over  the  news,  merchants  their  commercial 
prospects.  It  was  at  once  the  IJourse  and  the  Royal  P^x- 
change  of  (Quebec  :  there  were  promulgated,  by  the  brazen 
lungs  of  the  city  crier,  royal  proclamations  of  the  Governor, 
edicts  of  the  Intendant,  orders  of  the  Court  of  Justice,  ven- 
dues public  and  private, — in  short,  the  life  and  stir  of  the 
citv  of  (Quebec  seemed  to  How  about  the  door  of  St.  Marie 
as  the  Idood  through  the  heart  of  a  healthy  man. 

A  few  old  trees,  relics  of  the  primeval  forest,  had  been 
left  for  shade  and  ornament  in  the  great  Market  Place.  A 
little  rivulet  of  clear  water  ran  sparkling  down  the  slope  of 
the  scjuare,  where  every  day  the  shadow  of  the  cross  of  the 
tall  steeple  lay  over  it  like  a  benediction. 

A  couple  of  young  men,  fashionably  dressed,  loitered  this 
afternoon  near  the  great  door  of  the  Convent  in  the  narrow 
street  that  runs  into  the  great  square  of  the  market.  They 
walked  about  with  short,  impatient  turns,  occasionally  glanc- 
ing at  the  clock  of  the  Recollets,  visible  through  the  tall  elms 
that  hounded  the  garden  of  the  Gray  Friars.  Presently  the 
door  of  the  Convent  opened.  Half  a  dozen  gaily-attired 
young  ladies,  iutcnicx  or  pupils  of  the  Convent,  sallied  out. 
They  had  exchanged  their  conventual  dress  for  their  usual 
iiutsitle  attire,  and  got  leave  to  go  out  into  the  world  on 
>onic  errand,  real  or  pretended,  for  one  hour  and  no  more. 

They  tripped  lightly  down  the  broad  steps,  and  were  in- 
>tantly  joined  by  the  young  men  who  had  been  waiting  for 
them.  After  a  hasty,  merry  hand-shaking,  the  whole  parly 
proceeded  in  great  glee  towards  the  Market  Place,  where  the 
''Imps  of  the  mercers  and  confectioners  olfered  the  attrac- 
liims  they  sought.  They  went  on  j)urchasing  bonbons  and 
iil)l)()ns  from  one  shop  to  another  until  they  reached  the 
'  .itlk'dral.  when  a  connnon  impulse  seized  them  to  see  who 
was  there.  'I'hey  llew  up  the  steps  and  (lisap|)eared  in  the 
diurcli, 

In  the  midst  of  their  devotions,  as  they  knelt  upon  the 
'lour,  the  sharp  eyes  of  the  young   ladies   were  caught  by 


202 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


gesticulations  of  the  \vell-j;lovecl  hand  of  the  Chevahe-  jcs 
Meloises,  as  he  sahited  them  across  tiie  aisle. 

The  hurried  recitation  of  an  .  /7v  or  two  had  quite  satisfied 
the  devotion  of  the  Chevalier,  and  he  looked  round  tlii 
church  with  an  air  of  condescension,  criticizing  the  music 
and  peering  into  the  faces  of  such  of  the  ladies  as  looked 
up,  and  many  did  so,  to  return  his  scrutiny. 

The  young  ladies  encountered  him  in  the  aisle  as  thev  left 
the  church  before  the  service  was  finished.  It  had  lon^ 
since  been  finished  for  him.  and  was  finished  for  the  voting 
ladies  also  when  they  had  satisfied  their  curiosity  to  see  who 
was  there  and  who  with  whom. 

"  We  cannot  pray  for  you  any  longer.  Chevalier  des  Me- 
loises !  "  said  one  of  the  gayest  of  the  group  ;  "  tiie  badv 
Superior  has  economically  granted  us  but  one  hour  in  the 
city  to  make  our  purchases  and  attend  Vespers.  Out  of  thai 
hour  we  can  only  steal  forty  minutes  for  a  pronienadc 
through  the  city,  so  good-by,  if  you  prefer  the  church  lo 
our  company,  or  come  with  us  and  you  shall  escort  two  of 
us.  Vou  see  we  have  onlv  a  coui)le  of  gentlemen  to  six 
ladies." 

'•  I  much  )3refer  your  company.  Mademoiselle  de  liiou- 
ague  !  "  replied  he  gallantly,  forgetting  the  important  nieetiiiL; 
of  the  managers  of  the  Grand  Company  at  the  Palace.  The 
business,  however,  was  being  cleverly  transacted  without  hi^ 
help. 

Louise  de  Brouague  had  no  great  esteem  for  the  Chevaher 
des  Meloises,  but,  as  she  remarked  to  a  companion,  he  made 
rather  a  neat  walking-stick,  if  a  young  lady  could  procure  iin 
better  to  promenade  with. 

"We  come  out  in  full  force  to-day,  Chevalier,"  said  she. 
with  a  merry  glance  round  the  group  of  lively  girls.  " .\ 
glorious  sample  of  the  famous  class  of  the  Louises,  arc  we 
not?" 

"C.lorious!  superb!  incom]iarable ! "  the  Chevalier  re- 
plieil.  as  he  inspected  them  archly  through  his  glass.  "  I'lit 
how  did  you  nuuiage  lo  get  out?  One  Loui.se  at  a  time  i^ 
enough  to  storm  the  city,  but  si.\  of  them  at  once  the 
Lady  Superior  is  full  of  mercy  to-day." 

'*()hl  is  she?  Listen:  we  should  not  have  got  permis- 
sion to  come  out  to-day  had  we  not  first  laid  siege  to  the 


THE    MEROVINGIAN    PRINCESS. 


203 


soft  heart  of  Mere  des  Seraphins.  She  it  was  who  inter- 
ceded for  us,  and  lo !  here  we  are,  ready  for  any  adventure 
that  may  Ijefall  errant  demoiselles  in  the  streets  of  Quebec  !" 

Well  might  the  fair  Louise  de  IJrouague  boast  of  the 
famous  class  of  "  the  Louises,"  all  composed  of  young  ladies 
of  that  rame,  distinguished  for  beauty,  rank,  and  fashion  in 
the  world  of  New  France. 

i'luminent  among  them  at  that  period  was  the  beautiful, 
;fav  Louise  de  Hrouague.  In  the  full  maturity  of  her 
charms,  as  the  wife  of  the  Chevalier  de  Lery  she  accom- 
panied iier  hasband  to  England  after  the  cession  of  Canada, 
and  went  to  Court  to  pay  homage  to  their  new  sovereign, 
dcorjit-'  IIL,  when  the  young  king,  struck  with  her  grace 
and  beauty,  gallantly  exclaimed,  - 

"If  the  ladies  of  Canada  are  as  handsome  as  you,  I  have 
indeed  made  a  conquest !  " 

To  escort  young  ladies,  internes  of  the  Convent,  when 
^nanted  permission  to  go  out  into  the  city,  was  a  favorite 
pastime,  truly  a  labor  of  love,  of  the  young  gallants  of  that 
(lay.  an  occupation,  if  very  idle,  at  least  very  agreeable  to 
those  participating  in  these  stolen  promenades,  and  which 
have  not,  perhaps,  been  altogether  discontinued  in  Quebec 
tven  to  the  present  day. 

The  i)ious  nuns  were  of  couise  entirely  ignorant  of  the 
contrivances  of  their  fair  pupils  to  amuse  themselves  in  the 
city.  At  any  rate  they  good-naturedly  overlooked  things 
ihcy  could  not  cpiite  ])revent.  They  had  human  hearts  still 
iiiuler  their  snowy  wimples,  and  perhaps  did  not  wholly  lack 
womanly  sympathy  with  the  dear  girls  in  their  charge. 

"Why  are  you  not  at  IJelmont  to-day,  (Jhevalier  des 
Mcloises?"  boldly  asked  Louise  Koy,  a  fearless  little  cpies- 
tioner  in  a  gay  summer  robe.  She  was  prettv,  and  sprightly 
.is  Titania.  Her  long  chestnut  hair  was  the  marvel  and 
hoast  of  the  Convent  and,  what  she  prized  more,  the  admir- 
ation of  the  city.  It  co\ered  her  like  a  veil  down  to  her 
knees  when  she  chose  to  let  it  down  in  a  llood  of  s|)lendor. 
IKt  deep,  gray  eyes  contiMued  wells  of  womanly  wisdom. 
Her  skin,  fair  as  a  lily  of  Artois.  had  borrowed  from  the 
Min  live  or  six  faint  freckles,  just  to  prove  the  purity  of  her 
l>hjoil  and  distract  the  eye  with  a  variety  of  charms.  The 
Merovingian  Princess,  the  long-haired  daughter  of  kings,  as 


>04 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


she  was  fondly  styled  by  the  nuns,  queened  it  wherever  she 
went  by  right  divine  of  youth,  wit,  and  beauty. 

"  1  should  not  have  had  the  felicity  of  meeting  you, 
Mademoiselle  Roy,  had  I  gone  to  Belmont,"  replied  the 
Chevalier,  not  liking  the  question  at  all.  "  1  preferred  not 
to  go." 

"  Vou  are  always  so  polite  and  complimentary,"  rejDJied 
she,  a  trace  of  pout  visible  on  her  pretty  lips.  "  I  do  not 
see  how  any  one  could  stay  away  who  was  at  liberty  to  go  to 
Belmont!  And  the  whole  city  has  gone,  I  am  sure!  f(jr  I 
see  nobody  in  the  street !  "  She  held  an  eye-glass  coquet- 
tishly  to  her  eye.  ''  Nobody  at  all  ! "  repeated  she.  Her 
companions  accused  her  afterwards  of  glancing  equivocallv 
at  the  Chevalier  as  she  made  this  remark  ;  and  she  answered 
with  a  merry  laugh  that  might  imply  either  assent  or 
denial. 

"  Had  you  heard  in  the  Convent  of  the  festival  at  Belmont, 
Mademoiselle  Roy  ? "  asked  he,  twirling  his  cane  rather 
majestically. 

"We  have  heard  of  nothing  else  and  talked  of  nothing 
else  for  a  whole  week  1 "  replied  she.  "  Our  mistresses  have 
been  in  a  state  of  distraction  trying  to  stop  our  incessant 
whispering  in  the  school  instead  of  minding  our  lessons  like 
good  girls  trying  to  earn  good  conduct  marks !  The  feast, 
the  ball,  the  dresses,  the  company,  beat  learning  out  of  our 
heads  and  hearts!  Only  fancy,  Chevalier,"  she  went  on 
in  her  voluble  manner;  "Louise  de  Beaujeu  here  was  asked 
to  give  the  Latin  name  for  Heaven,  and  she  ai  once 
translated  it   I»elmont!" 

"Tell  no  school  tales,  Mademoiselle  Roy!"  retorted 
Louise  de  Beaujeu,  her  black  eyes  Hashing  with  merriment, 
"It  was  a  good  tran-slation !  But  who  was  it  stumbled  in  the 
Greek  class  when  asked  for  the  pro|)er  name  of  the  itiuix 
androii^  the  king  of  men  in  the  Iliad?"  F.oui.se  Roy 
looked  archly  and  said  defiantly,  "Co  on!"  "Would  yiui 
believe  it,  Chevalier,  she  replied  'Pierre  I'hilibert!'  Mere 
Christine  fairly  gasped,  but  Louise  had  to  kiss  the  lloor  as  a 
penance  for  pronouncing  a  gentleman's  name  with  such 
unction." 

"  And  if  I  did  1  paid  my  penance  heartily  and  loudly,  as 
you  may  recollect,  Louise  de  Beaujeu,  although   1  confess 


THE    MKROVINGIAN    PRINCESS. 


205 


I  would  have  preferred  kissing  Pierre  Philibert  himself  if  I 
had  had  my  choice !  " 

"Always  her  way!  won't  give  in!  never!  Louise  Roy 
stands  by  her  translation  in  spite  of  all  the  Greek  Lexicons 
in  the  Convent!"  exclaimed  Louise  de  Brouague. 

"And  so  I  do,  and  will;  and  Pierre  Philibert  is  the 
kiim^  of  men,  in  New  France  or  Old !  Ask  Amelie  de 
Repentigny ! "  added  she,  in  a  half  whisper  to  her  com- 
panion. 

"Oh,  she  will  swear  to  it  any  day  !  "  was  the  saucy  reply 
of  Louise  de  IJrouague.  "  Put  without  whispering  it, 
Chevalier  des  Meloises,"  continued  she,  "the  classes  in 
the  Convent  have  all  gone  wild  in  his  favor  since  they 
learned  he  was  in  love  with  one  of  our  late  companions 
in  school.  He  is  the  Prince  Camaralzaman  of  our  fairy 
tales." 

"Who  is  that.'*"  The  Chevalier  spoke  tartly,  rather. 
He  was  excessively  annoyed  at  all  this  enthusiasm  in 
behalf  of   Pierre   Philibert. 

"\ay,  I  will  tell  no  more  fairy  tales  out  of  school,  but 
I  assure  you,  if  our  wishes  had  wings  the  whole  class  of 
Louises  would  Hy  avay  to  Pelmont  to-day  like  a  flock  of 
ring-doves." 

Louise  de  Brouague  noticed  the  pique  of  the  Chevalier 
at  the  mention  of  Philibert,  but  in  that  spirit  of  petty 
torment  with  which  her  sex  avenges  small  slights  she 
continued  to  irritate  the  vanity  of  the  Chevalier,  whom  in 
her  heart  she  despised. 

His  politeness  nearly  gave  way.  He  was  thoroughly 
disgusted  with  all  this  lavish  praise  of  Philibert.  He  sud- 
denly recollected  that  he  had  an  appointment  at  the  Palace 
which  would  prevent  him,  he  said,  enjoying  the  full  hour  of 
absence  granted  to  the  Greek  class  of  the  Ursulines. 

"Mademoiselle  AngcMicjue  has  of  course  gone  to  I'elmont, 
if  pressing  engagements  prevent  _ivv/,  Chevalier,"  said  Loui.se 
Roy.  "  How  provoking  it  mu.st  be  to  have  business  to 
Itiok  after  when  one  wants  to  enjoy  life!"  The  Chevalier 
half  spun  round  on  his  heel  under  the  cjuizzing  of  Louise's 
eye-glass. 

"  Xo,  Angelique  has  not  gone  to  Belmont,"  replied  he, 
quite  pi([ued.     "She  very  properly  declined  to  mingle  with 


206 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


the  Messieurs  and  Mesdames  Jourdains  who  consort  with  the 
Bourgeois  Philibert !  She  was  preparing  for  a  ride,  and 
the  city  really  seems  all  the  gayer  by  the  absence  of  so 
many  commonplace  people  as  have  gone  out  to  Belmont." 

Louise  de  Brouague's  eyes  gave  a  few  Hashes  of  indi'Tna- 
tion.  "  Fie,  Chevalier  !  that  was  naughtily  said  of  von 
about  the  good  Bourgeois  and  his  friends,"  exclaimed  she, 
impetuously.  "Why,  the  Governor,  the  Lady  de  rilly  and 
her  niece,  the  Chevalier  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  Hortense  and 
Claude  de  Beauharnais,  and  I  know  not  how  many  iiioitof 
the  very  elite  of  society  have  gone  to  do  honor  to  Colond 
Philibert !  And  as  for  the  girls  in  the  Convent,  who  you  will 
allow  are  the  most  important  and  most  select  portion  of  the 
community,  there  is  not  one  of  us  but  would  willingly  jump 
out  of  the  window,  and  do  penance  on  dry  bread  and  silt 
fish  for  a  month,  just  for  one  hour's  pleasure  at  the  ball 
this  evening,  would  we  not,  Louises  .''  " 

Not  a  Louise  present  but  assented  with  an  emphasis 
that  brought  sympathetic  smiles  upon  the  faces  of  the  two 
young  chevaliers  who  had  watched  all  this  pretty  play. 

The  Chevalier  des  Meloises  bowed  very  low.  "  1  rei,Mei 
so  much,  ladies,  to  have  to  leave  you !  but  affairs  of  .Stale, 
you  know  —  affairs  of  State!  'I'he  Intendant  will  not  pro 
ceed  without  a  full  board  :  I  must  attend  the  meeting  to-day 
at  the  Palace." 

''Oh,  assuredly,  Chevalier,"  replied  Louise  Roy.  "  \Vh;ii 
would  become  of  the  Nation,  what  would  become  of  ihc 
world,  nay,  what  would  become  of  the  internes  of  the  I'lsii- 
lines,  if  statesmen  and  warriors  and  philo.sophers  like  you 
and  the  Sieurs  Drouillon  and  La  Force  here  (this  in  a  paroii 
thesis,  not  to  scratch  the  C'hevalier  too  deep),  did  not  lake 
wise  counsel  for  our  safety  and  happiness,  and  ahso  for  tlU' 
welfare  of  the  nation  ?  " 

The  Chevalier  des  Meloi.ses  took  his  departure  under  thi> 
shower  of  arrows. 

The  young  T^a  Force  was  as  yet  only  an  idle  dangler 
about  the  city  ;  but  in  the  course  of  time  became  a  man  of 
wit  and  energy  worthy  of  his  name.      He  replied  gaily. 

•'Thanks,  Mademoiselle  Roy!  It  is  just  for  sake  ot  the 
fair  internes  of  the  Convent  that  Drouillon  and  I  have  taken 
up    the    vocation  of  statesmen,  warriors,  philosophcr.s.  and 


THE    MEROVINGIAN    PRINCESS. 


207 


friend."!.  We  are  quite  ready  to  guide  your  innocent  foot- 
steps througii  the  streets  of  this  perilous  city,  if  you  are 
ready  to  go." 

"  \\'e  had  better  hasten  too ! "  ejacuhited  Louise  Roy, 
looking  archly  through  her  eye-glass.  "  I  can  see  Bon- 
homme  Michel  peeping  round  the  corner  of  the  Cote  de 
Lerv !  He  is  looking  after  us  stray  lambs  of  the  flock, 
Sieur  Drouillon  !  " 

lionhonime  Michel  was  the  old  watchman  and  factotum 
of  the  monastery.  He  had  a  general  commission  to  keep  a 
sharp  eye  upon  the  young  ladies  who  were  allowed  to  go 
(lilt  into  the  city.  A  pair  of  horn  spectacles  usually  helped 
his  vision,  —  sometimes  marred  it,  however,  when  the  know- 
ing gallants  slipped  a  crown  into  his  hand  to  put  in  the 
pkice  of  his  magnifiers!  ]^)Onhomme  Michel  placed  all  his 
propitiation  money  —  he  liked  a  pious  word-— in  his  old 
leathern  sack,  which  contained  the  redemption  of  many 
a  gadding  promenade  through  the  streets  of  Quebec. 
Whether  he  reported  what  he  saw  this  time  is  not  re- 
corded in  the  ViriLx  Rccit^  the  old  annals  of  the  Convent. 
Hut  as  Louise  Roy  called  him  her  dear  old  Cupid,  and 
knew  so  well  how  to  bandage  his  eyes,  it  is  probable  the 
liood  nuns  were  not  informed  of  the  pleasant  meeting  of  the 
class  Louises  and  the  gentlemen  who  escorted  them  round 
ihe  city  on  the  present  occasion. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 


PUT    MONEY    IX     IHY    PURSE. 


THE  Chevalier  des  Meloises,  quite  out  of  humor  with 
tlie  merry  Louises,  picked  his  way  with  quick,  daintv 
steps  down  the  Rue  du  l^ihiis.  Tlie  gay  Louises,  before 
returning  to  the  Convent,  resolved  to  make  a  hasty  i)romcn 
ade  to  the  walls  to  see  the  people  at  work  upon  them. 
They  received  with  great  contentment  the  military  salute 
of  the  officers  of  their  acquaintance,  which  they  acknowledged 
with  the  courtesy  of  well-trained  internes,  slightly  exafjfjer- 
ated  by  provoking  smiles  and  mischievous  glances  wiiich 
had  formed  no  part  of  the  lessons  in  politeness  taught  thei]i 
by  the  nuns. 

In  justice  be  it  said,  however,  the  girls  were  actuated 
by  a  nobler  feeling  than  the  mere  spirit  of  amusement  a 
sentiment  of  lovaltv  to  France,  a  warm  enthusiasm  for  their 
country,  drew  them  to  the  walls  :  they  wanted  to  see  the 
defenders  of  (Quebec,  to  show  their  sympathy  and  smile 
approval  upon  them. 

"Would  to  heaven  I  were  a  man,"  exclaimed  Louise  di 
Brouague,  "that  1  might  wield  a  sword,  a  spade,  unythin;' 
of  use,  to  serve  my  country  !  I  shame  to  do  nothing: 
but  talk,  pray,  and  suffer  for  it,  while  every  one  else  i.-- 
working  or  fighting." 

Poor  g'rl !  she  did  not  foresee  a  day  when  the  women 
of  New  Prance  would  undergo  trials  compared  with  which 
the  sword  stroke  that  kills  the  strong  man  is  as  the  toiieii 
of  mercy,  —  when  the  iiatteries  of  Wolfe  would  for  si.\ly-tive 
days  shower  shot  antl  shell  upon  (Quebec,  and  tlie  Soiiih 
shore  for  a  hundred  miles  together  be  blazing  with  the 
fires  of  devastation.  Such  things  were  mercifully  withheld 
from  their  foresight,  and  the  light-hearted  girls  went  tin 
round  of  the  works  as  gaily  as  tliey  would  have  tripped  in 
a  ballroom. 


PUT    MONEY    IN    TIIV    PUKSr:. 


209 


The  Chevalier  cles  Meloises,  passinjj;  throiip;h  the  I'orte 
dii  Palais,  was  hailed  by  two  or  three  young  officers  of  the 
Regiment  of  Ik'arn,  who  invited  him  into  the  Ouard  House 
to  take  a  glass  of  wine  before  descending  the  steep  hill. 
Tlie  Chevalier  stopped  willingly,  and  entered  the  well-fur- 
iiished  quarters  of  the  officers  of  the  guard,  where  a  cool 
ilask  of  liurgundy  presently  restored  him  to  good  humor 
wiih  himself,  and  consecpiently  with  the  world. 

"What  is  up  to-day  at  the  Palace?"  asked  Captain 
Muiiiediu,  a  vivacious  Navarrois.  "  All  the  Gros  Bonnets 
oftheCrand  Company  have  gone  down  this  afternoon!  I 
suppose  you  are  going  too,  Des  Meloises.'"' 

•  Yes !  They  have  sent  for  me,  you  see,  on  affairs  of 
Mate  — what  Penisault  calls  'business.'  Not  a  drop  of  wine 
on  the  board  !  Nothing  but  books  and  papers,  bills  and 
shipments,  money  paid,  money  received  !  Doit  ct  ai'oir  and 
all  the  cursed  lingo  of  the  P'riponne  !  I  damn  the  Friponne, 
l)ut  bless  her  money  1  It  pays,  Monredin  !  It  pays  better 
than  fur-trading  at  a  lonely  outpost  in  the  northwest."  The 
( hevalier  jingled  a  handful  of  coin  in  his  pocket.  The 
sound  was  a  sedative  to  his  disgust  at  the  idea  of  trade, 
and  quite  reconciled  him  to  the   Friponne. 

"You  are  a  lucky  dog  nevertheless,  to  be  able  to  make 
it  jingle  !  "  said  Monredin,  "  not  one  of  us  Bearnois  can  play 
an  accompaniment  to  your  air  of  money  in  both  pockets. 
Hero  is  our  famous  Regiment  of  Be'arn,  second  to  none  in 
the  King's  service,  a  whole  year  in  arrears  without  pay! 
Gad  I  I  wish  I  could  go  into  '  business,'  as  you  call  it,  and 
woo  that  jolly  dame.  La  Fripoiiuc  ! 

"  For  six  months  we  have  lived  on  trust.  Those  leeches 
of  jews,  who  call  themselves  Christians,  down  in  the  Sault 
au  Maielot,  won't  cash  the  best  orders  in  the  regiment  for 
less  than  forty  per  cent,  discount  !  " 

"That  is  true  !  "  broke  in  another  officer,  whose  rather  rubi- 
ciuhI  face  told  of  credit  somewhere,  and  the  jiroduct  of  credit, 

good  wine  and  aood  dinners  L!;enerallv.  "That  is  true, 
Monredin  !  T'he  old  curmudgeon  of  a  breaker  at  the  corner  of 
'no  ('id  de  Sac  had  the  impudence  to  ask  me  fifty  per  cent. 
ilisoount  iq)on  my  drafts  on  IJourdeaux  !  i  agree  with  Des 
Meloises  there :  business  may  be  a  good  thing  for  those 
«ho  handle  it,  but  devil  touch  their  dirty  fingers  for  me!" 


2IO 


THK    nOLDKN    DOG. 


"  Oon't  condemn  all  of  iheni,  Knieric,"  said  Captain 
Poulariez,  a  quiet,  resolute-looking  officer.  "There  is  one 
merchant  in  the  city  who  carries  the  principles  of  a  gentle- 
man into  die  usages  of  commerce.  'J'he  ikiurgeois  I'hilibcrt 
gives  cent,  per  cent,  for  good  orders  of  the  King's  utiicers, 
just  to  show  his  sympathy  with  the  army  and  his  love  for 
France." 

"■  Well,  I  wish  he  were  paymaster  of  the  forces,  iliat  is 
all,  and  then  I  could  go  to  him  if  I  wanted  to,"  icpii-.d 
Monredin. 

"  Why  do  you  not  go  to  him  ?  "   asked  Poulariez. 

"Why,  for  the  same  reason,  I  suppose,  so  many  others nf 
us  do  not,"  replied  Monredin.  "Colonel  Dalquier  cikIoims 
my  orders,  and  he  hates  the  l»ourgeois  cordially,  as  a  hot 
friend  of  the  Intendant  ought  to  do.  So  you  see  I  have  to 
submit  to  be  plucked  of  my  best  pen-feathers  by  that  old 
fcssc-maihien  Penisault  at  the  Friponne  !  " 

"  How  many  of  yours  have  gone  out  to  the  great  spread  a;  | 
Belmont.''"  asked   I)es  Meloises,  quite  weary  of  comnicrcial 
topics. 

"  Par  Dieu  .^"  replied  Monredin,  "  except  the  colonel  and 
adjutant,  who  stayed  away  on  principle,  I  think  e\ery  nflicer 
in  the  regiment,  present  company  excepted  —  who  being  oti  I 
duty  could  not  go,  much  to  their  chagrin.     Such  a  glorioa. 
crush  of  handsome  girls  has  not  been  seen,  they  say,  since | 
our  regiment  came  to  Quebec." 

"  And  not  likely  to  have  been   seen  before   your  distiii 
guished  arrival  —  eh,  Monredin  ?  "  ejaculated  Des  .Meloises, 
holding  his  glass  to  be  refilled.      "  That  is  deliciou-s  Biiri 
gundy,"  added   he,  "  I  did   not   think   any  one  beside  tliej 
Intendant  had  wine  like  that." 

"  That  is  some  of  La  Mnrtiniere's  cargo,"  replied  Poii  I 
lariez.  "  It  was  kind  of  him,  was  it  not,  to  remember  iis| 
poor  Bearnois  here  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  Atlantic?' 

"  And  how  earnestly  we  were  praying  for  that  same  lliiri 
gundy,"  ejaculated  Monredin,  "  when  it  came,  as  if  dropped! 
upon  us  by  Providence  !  Health  and  wealth  to  Captain  Laj 
Martiniere  and  the  good  frigate  Flcur-de-Lis  I^'' 

Another  round  followed. 

"  They  talk  about  those  Jansenist  couTuIsioiniairrf  at  tliej 
tomb  of  Master  Paris,  which  are  setting  all   France  by  tlwl 


PUT     MONKV     IN     rHV     PITRSE. 


211 


ears."  exclaimed   Monredin,  "  hut  I   say  tlicie  is  nothinj;  so 
ointiinious  as  the  drinking  of  a  glass  of  wine  like  that." 

•  And  the  glass  gives  us  convulsions  too.  Monredin,  if 
I  we  trv  it  too  often,  and  no  miracle  about  it  either,"  re- 
Iniarkt'd  I'oulariez. 

Monredin  looked  up,  red  and  puffy,  as  if  needing  a  bridle 
I  to  check  his  fast  gait. 

Dut  ihey  say  we  are  to  have  peace  soon.  Is  that  true, 
hies  Mcloises? "  asked  Foulariez.  "You  ought  to  know 
[wlial  is  under  the  cards  before  they  are  played." 

Xo,  I  don't  know;  and   I   hope  the  report  is  not  true. 
[who  wants  peace  yet?      It  would  ruin  the  King's  friends  in 
the  Colony."     l)es  Meloises  looked  as  statesmanlike  as  he 
Icould  when  delivering  this  dictum. 

Ruin  the  King's  friends  !  Who  are  they,  Des  Meloi- 
ises.^  "  asked  Poulariez,  with  a  look  of  well-assumed  sur- 
I  prise. 

"Why,  the  associates  of  the  Grand  Company,  to  be  sure  ! 
IWhal  other  friends  has  the  King  got  in  New  France  .''  " 

Really  !  I  thought  he  had  the  Regiment  of  IJearn  for  a 
Imimber  of  them  -  -  to  say  nothing  of  the  honest  people  of 
jthe  Colony,"  replied  Poulariez,  impatiently. 

"The  lloniictcs  Gais^  you  mean  1  "  exclaimed  Des  Meloi- 
Ises.  ''Well,  Poulariez,  all  1  have  to  say  is  that  if  this 
llolony  is  to  be  kept  up  for  the  sake  of  a  lot  of  shopkeepers. 
Iwimd-choppers,  cobblers,  and  farmers,  the  sooner  the  King 
Ihands  it  over  to  the  devil  or  the  P^nglish  the  better  !  " 

Poulariez  looked  indignant  enough  ;  but  from  the  others 
jaloud  laugh  followed  this  sally. 

The  Chevalier  des  Meloises  pulled  out  his  watch.  "  I 
IniiM  he  ^one  to  the  Palace,"  said  he.  *'  I  dare  say  Cadet, 
jVaiin.  and  Penisault  will  have  balanced  the  ledgers  by  this 
ic.  and  the  Intendant,  who  is  the  devil  for  business  on 
IsiiLii  occasions,  will  have  settled  the  dividends  for  the  quar- 
m     ihe  only  part  of  the  business  I  care  about." 

"Hui  don't  you  help  them  with  the  work  a  little  ?  "  asked 
iPoularie/. 

"Not  I;  I  leave  business  to  them  thai  have  a  vocation 
poi  u,  liesides,  I  think  Cadet,  Vargin,  and  Penisault  like  to 
p'P  the  inner  ring  of  the  company  to  themselves."  He 
jiiinial  to  Kmeric  :   "1   hope  there  will   be  a  good  dividend 


212 


THK    C.OLDKN    HOG. 


to-night,   Emeric,"  said  he.     ''I  owe  you  some  rovenijeati 
piquet,  do  I  not  ?  " 

'*  Vou  capoted  me  last  night  at  the  Taverne  dc  Menu;,  | 
and  I  had  three  aces  and  three  kings." 

"  Ikit  1  had  a  (jinUoru-,  and  took  the  fishes,"  replied  lb  I 
Meloises. 

"Well,  Chevalier,  I  shall  win  them  back  to-night.  I  hopn 
the  dividend  will  be  good:  in  that  way  I  too  may  share  in] 
the  'business  '  of  the  Grand  Company." 

"Good-by,     Chevalier;    remember    me  to    St.    Hlamie: 
(This  was  a  familiar  sobriquet  of   i5igot.)      "  Tis  the  be^tj 
!iame  going.      If  I   had  an  heir  for  the  old  chateau  on  thd 
Adour,  I   would  christen  him    IJigot   for  luck." 

The  Chevalier  des  Meloises  left  the  ofilicers  and  pro 
ceeded  down  the  steep  road  t'.iat  led  to  the  Palace.  Tliel 
gardens  were  quiet  to-day —  a  few  loungers  might  be  seenin| 
the  magnificent  alleys,  pleachtd  walks,  and  terraces;  beyond 
these  gardens,  however,  stretcli'^d  the  King's  wharves  audi 
tiie  magazines  of  the  Friponne.  These  fairly  swarmed  viihl 
men  loading  and  unloading  ships  and  bateaux,  and  pilinj 
and  unpiling  goods. 

The  Chevalier  glanced  with  disdain  at  the  niagaziiie>, 
and  flourishing  his  cane,  mounted  leisurely  the  broad  skpj 
of  the  Palace,  and  was  at  once  admitted  to  the  council| 
room. 

"  Better  late  than  never,  Che  ..lier  des  Meloises ! "'  exi 
claimed  Bigot,  carelessly  glancing  at  him  as  he  took  a  seat! 
at  the  board,  where  sat  Cadet,  Varin,  Penisault,  and  tliej 
leading  spirits  of  the  Grand  Company.  "  You  are  in  doui  lej 
luck  to-day.  The  business  is  over,  and  Dame  Friponne  lusl 
laid  a  golden  egg  worth  a  Jew's  tooth  for  each  i)artner 
the  Company." 

The  Chevalier  did    not    notice,  or  did  not  care  for.  tl 
slight  touch  of  sarcasm  in  the  Intendant's  tone.      "Thanks, 
Bigot !  "  drawled  he.     "  My  eggs  shall  be  hatched  to-iv 
down  at  Menut's.     I  expect  to  have  little  more  left  than  thij 
shell  of  it  to-morrow." 

"  Well,  never  mind  !  We  hav^e  considered  all  tliatj 
Chevalier.  What  one  loses  another  gets.  It  is  all  in  M 
family.  Look  here,"  continued  he,  laying  his  finger  iipoi 
a  page  of  the  ledger  that  lay  open  before  him,  "  Madeniof 


PUT    MONEY     IN    THY    PURSE. 


213 


selle  An^clicjue  des  Meloises  is  now  a  shareholder  in  the 
GmikU  <»inpany.  The  list  of  hi<j;h,  fair,  and  noble  ladies 
of  tilt'  Court  who  are  members  of  the  Company  will  be 
honored  by  the  addition  of  the  name  of  your  charming 
Isbtcr." 

Ihe  Chevalier's  eyes  sparkled  with  delight  as  he  read 
Angcliquc's  name  on  the  book.  A  handsome  sum  of  five 
|(li;nt.s  stood  to  lier  credit.  He  bowed  his  thanks  with 
Inuinv  \\;irm  expressions  of  his  sense  of  the  honor  done 
fii.',  si>lcr  by  "  placing  her  name  on  the  roll  of  the  ladies  of 
[the  Court  who  honor  the  Company  by  accepting  a  share  of 
lib  dividends." 

•I  hope  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises  will  not  refuse  this 
[small  mark  of  our  respect,"  observed  IJigot,  feeling  well 
[as^urecl  she  would  not  deem  it  a  small  one. 

Little    fear    of    that!"     muttered    Cadet,     whose     bad 
lupinion   of    the    sex   was    incorrigible.      "The    game    fowls 
ut  \L'rsailles   scratch  jewels   out    of    every    dung-hill,    and 
lAnijcliciue    des    Meloises    has    longer    claws   than    any    of 
Ithi'in  !  " 

CiKlet's  ill-natured  remark  was  either  unheard  or  un- 
llitxded;  besides,  he  was  privileged  to  say  anything.  Des 
Meloises  bowed  with  an  air  of  perfect  complaisance  to  the 
Inlciuhuit  as  he  answered,  — "  I  guarantee  the  perfect 
Isiuisfaction  of  Angelique  with  this  marked  compliment  of 
Itlie  Grand  Company.  She  will,  1  am  sure,  appreciate  the 
jkiiidnL'ss  of  the  Intendant  as  it  deserves." 

Cadet   and    Varin    exchanged    smiles,  not    unnoticed    by 

Digot.  who  smiled   too.       "  Ves,   Chevalier,"  said  he,  "  the 

ll'i'mpaiiy  gives  this   token  of  its  admiration  for  the  fairest 

|ki(ly  in   Xew  France.     We  have  bestowed    premiums    upon 

lie  tlax  and  fat  cattle  :  why  not   upon  beauty,  grace,  and 

|\vit  embodied  in  handsome  women  ?  " 

"An<;elique  will  be  highly  flattered.  Chevalier,"  replied 
|lie,  "at  the  distinction.  Slie  must  thank  you  herself,  as  I 
lain  sure  she  will." 

"I   ain  happy  to  try    to  deserve    her    thanks,"  replied 
jBigot;   and,  not  caring  to  talk    further  on  the  subject, — 
pvhat  news  in  the  city  this  afternoon.  Chevalier.''"  asked 
lie;  "how  does  that  affair  at   IJelmont  go  off?" 
"Hon't   know.       Half    the    city    has    gone,   1   think.      At 


214 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


the  Church  door,  however,  the  talk  among  the  merchants  m 
that  peace  is  going  to  be  made  soon.      Is  it  so  very  tliia;. 
ening,  Bigot  ? " 

"  If  the  King  wills  it,  it  is."      Bigot  spoke  carelessly. 

"  Hut  your  own  opinion,  Chevalier  Bigot ;  what  think 
you  of  it  ?  " 

"Amen!    amen!       Quod  Jiat  fatiir !      Seigny  John,  the 
fool  of  Paris,  could  enlighten  you  as  well  as  1  could  as  to  i 
what   the   women   at  Versailles   may  decide  to  do,"'  n.-plicd 
ijigot  in  a  tone  of  impatience. 

"I  fear  peace  will  jje  made.  What  will  you  do  in  thn 
case,  Bigot?"  asked  Des  Meloises,  not  noticing  l)ii;ijt> 
aversion  to  the    topic. 

''If  the  King  makes  it,  iuvitus  ainabo !  as  the  man 
said  who  married  the  shrew."  Bigot  laughed  ni()(kin;j;iv, 
"We  must  make  the  best  of  it,  Des  Meloises!  and  let  nic 
tell  you  privately,  I  mean  to  make  a  good  thing  of  it  V- 
ourselves  whichever  way  it  turns." 

"  But  what  wiii  '"»ecome  of  the  Company  should  the  war 
expenditure  stop?"  The  Chevalier  was  thinking  ot  \\\>. 
dividend    of  five    figures. 

"Oh!  you  should  have  been  here  sooner,  Des  Meloisi^ 
you  would  have  heard  our  grand  settlement  of  tlu'  (|iRsiiiini 
in  every  contingency  of  peace  or  war." 

"Be  sure    of    one  thing,"  continued    Bigot,    "  tlif  ("iiaml 
Company  will  not,  like   the  eels  of    Melun,  cry  oui  before 
they  are    skinned.      What    says    the    pro\'erl),    ^  Miciix  \\\n\\ 
(•Nqi/i  (J lie  force  ^  (craft  beats  strength)?     The  (Irand  Coin- 
pany   must   prosper  as  the    first  condition    of   life    in  Nca 
Krance.     Perhaps    a    year    or    two    of    repose    may  not  lui 
amiss,  to  revictual   and  reinforce  the  Colony;  and  I ly  tii.it I 
time  we  shall  be  ready  to  pick  the  lock  of   Bellonas  leiii|)i(. 
again  and  cry  /7V','  /a  i^itirrc  /     I'ivc /a  Gratiiic  Coiitpi^nu' 
more  merrily  than  ever 


Bigot's 


far-reaching    intellect    forecast     the     course  u! 


events,  which   remained  so  much  subject  to  his  own  unrt- 
tion  after  the  peace  of  Aix  la  Chapelle       a  peace  whicli  in 
America  was  never  a  peai-e  at  all,  but  only  an  aniuil  ami  I 
troubleil    truce     between    the    clashing     interests    ami  rival 
ambitions  of  the    I^'rench   and    iMiglish   in  the  New  Woikl^  plished  if  An 
The  meeting  of    the    Board    of    Managers  of    the  <''i;i"il 


PUT    MONEY    IN    THY    PURSE. 


215 


Company  broke  up,  and  —  a  circumstance  that  rarely  hap- 
pened —  without  the  customary  debauch.  Bigot,  preoccu- 
pied with  his  own  projects,  which  reached  far  beyond  the 
nieie  interests  of  the  Company,  retired  to  his  couch. 
Cadet,  Varin,  and  PenisauU,  forming  an  interior  circle  of 
liic  I'riponne,  had  certain  matters  to  shape  for  the  Com- 
p.uiv's  eye.  The  rings  of  corruption  in  the  Grand  Com- 
pany descended,  narrower  and  more  black  and  precipitous, 
down  to  the  bottom  where  Higot  sat,  the  Demiurgos  of  all. 

The  Chevalier  des  Meloises  was  rather  proud  of  his 
sister's  beauty  and  cleverness,  and  in  truth  a  little  afraid 
of  her.  They  lived  together  harmoniously  enough,  so  long 
as  each  allowed  the  other  his  or  her  own  way.  Both  took  it, 
and  followed  their  own  pleasures,  and  were  not  usually  dis- 
agreeable to  one  another,  except  when  Angc'lique  commented 
on  what  she  called  his  penuriousness,  and  he  upon  her 
extravagance,  in  the  financial  administration  of  the  family 
of  the  Des  Meloises. 

The  Chevalier  was  highly  delighted  to-day  to  be  able  to 
inform  Angt'lique  of  her  good  fortune  in  becoming  a  partner 
of  the  Kriponne  and  that  too  by  grace  of  his  Excellency 
the  Intendant.  I'he  information  filled  Angelique  with 
(leHt:;ht,  not  only  because  it  made  her  independent  of  her 
brother's  mismanagement  of  money,  but  it  opened  a  door  to 
her  wildest  hopes.  In  that  gift  her  ambition  found  a  potent 
ally  to  enable  her  to  resist  the  appeal  to  her  heart  which  she 
knew  would  be  made  to-night  by  Le  Gardeur  de  Repen- 
tiL'ny. 

The  Chevalier  des  Meloises  had  no  idea  of  his  sister's 
own  aims.  He  had  long  nourished  a  foolish  fancy  that,  if  he 
had  not  obtained  the  hand  of  the  wealthy  and  beautiful 
heiress  of  Repentigny,  it  was  because  he  had  not  projiosed. 
Soimtliing  to-day  had  suggested  the  thought  that  unless  he 
ilid  ])r()[)ose  soon  his  chances  would  be  nil,  and  another 
ini;;hl  secure  the  prize  which  he  had  in  his  vain  fancy  set 
down  as  his  own. 

He  hinted  vo  Angelique  to-day  that  he  had  almost 
resolved  to  mavry,  and  that  his  ]-)r(jjected  alliance  witli  the 
iiiihle  and  wealthy  house  of  Tilly  could  be  easily  accom- 
jiHshc'd  if  Angelique  would  only  do  her  share,  as  a  sister 
ought,  ir  securing  her  brother's  fortune  and  happiness. 


t 
I  ■ 


2l6 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


"  How  ? "  asked  she,  looking  up  savagely,  for  she  knew 
well  at  what  her  brother  was  driving. 

"  By  your  accepting  Le  (iardeur  without  more  delay!  All 
the  city  knows  he  is  mad  in  love,  and  would  marry  you  anv 
day  you  choose  if  you  wore  only  the  hair  on  your  head.  He 
v  ould  ask  no  better  fortune  ! " 

"It  is  useless  to  advise  me,  Renaud ! "  said  she,  "and 
whether  I  take  Le  (iardeur  or  no  it  would  not  help  wmr 
chance  with  Amelie  !  I  am  sorry  for  it,  for  vVmclie  is  a 
prize,  Renaud!  but  not  for  you  at  any  price.  Let  iric  tdl 
you,  that  desirable  young  lady  will  become  the  itridc  of 
Pierre  Philibert,  and  the  bride  of  no  other  man  living." 

"  You  give  one  cold  encouragement,  sister !  liut  I  am 
sure,  if  you  would  only  marry  I^e  Gardeur,  you  could  easilv, 
with  your  tact  and  cleverness,  induce  Amelie  to  let  me  slLirc 
the  Tilly  fortune.  There  are  chests  full  of  gold  in  the  ok! 
Manor  House,  and  a  crow  could  hardly  fly  in  a  day  over 
their  broad  lands  !  " 

"  Perfectly  useless,  brother!  Amelie  is  not  like  most  girls, 
She  would  refuse  the  hand  of  a  king  for  the  sake  of  the  man 
she  loves,  and  she  loves  Pierre  Philibert  to  his  finger-eiicl.v 
She  has  married  him  in  her  heart  a  thousand  times.  I  hate 
paragons  of  women,  and  would  scorn  to  be  one,  but  I  tell  you, 
brother,  Amelie  is  a  paragon  of  a  girl,  without  knowini;  it!" 

"  Hum,  I  never  tried  my  hand  on  a  paragon  :  I  should  like 
to  do  so,"  replied  he,  with  a  smile  of  decided  confuleiicc  in 
his  powers.  "  I  fancy  they  are  just  like  other  women  when 
you  can  catch  them  with  their  armor  off." 

"Yes,  but  women  like  Amelie  never  lay  off  their  armor! 
They  seem  born  in  it,  like  Minerva,  liut  your  vanity  will 
not  let  you  believe  me,  Renaud!  So  go  try  her,  and  tell  ine 
your  luck!  She  won't  scratch  you,  nor  .scold.  Amelie  is  a 
lady,  and  will  talk  to  you  like  a  (jueen.  lUit  she  will  i^ivc 
you  a  polite  reply  to  your  proposal  that  will  impro\c  your 
opinions  of  oiw  se.x." 

"  Vou  are  mocking  me,  .Angeliciue,  as  you  al\vays  do!  One 
never  knows  when  you  are  in  jest  or  when  in  earnest.  Iacii 
when  you  get  angry,  it  is  often  inireal  and  for  a  par])ose!  1 
want  you  to  be  serious  for  once.  The  fortune  of  the  Tilly^ 
and  De  Kepentignys  is  the  best  in  New  France,  and  we  can 
make  it  ours  if  you  will  help  me." 


PUT  MONEY  IN  THY  PURSE. 


217 


•'  I  am  serious  enough  in  wishing  you  those  chests  full  of 
;roltl.  and  those  broad  lands  that  a  crow  cannot  Hy  over  in  a 
da\  ;  but  I  must  forego  my  share  of  them,  and  so  must  you 
voiirs.  brother  !  "  Angelique  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  desiring 
to  stop  further  discussion  of  a  topic  she  did  not  like  to  hear. 

"Why  must  you  forego  your  share  of  the  De  Repentigny 
fortune.  Angelique  .''  Vou  could  call  it  your  own  any  day 
vou  chose  by  giving  your  little  finger  to  Le  Gardeur!  you 
do  really  puzzle  me." 

The  Chevalier  did  look  perplexed  at  his  insciutable  sister, 
who  only  smiled  over  the  tal)le  at  him,  as  she  nonchalantly 
iT.ickei!  nuts  and  sipped  her  wine  by  drops. 

"Of  course  I  puzzle  you,  Renaud  !  "  said  she  at  last.  "  I 
am  a  puzzle  to  myself  sometimes.  Hut  you  see  there  are  so 
iiumy  men  in  the  world.  —  poor  ones  are  so  plenty,  rich  ones 
su  scarce,  and  sensible  ones  hardly  to  be  found  at  all, — that 
,1  woman  may  be  excused  for  selling  herself  to  the  highest 
bidder,  i^uve  is  a  commodity  only  spoken  of  in  romances 
or  in  the  patois  of  milkmaids  now-a-days  !  " 

•' /omuls,  Angclicjue  !  you  would  try  the  patience  of  all  the 
>aints  in  the  calendar!  I  shall  pity  the  fellow  you  take  in  ! 
Here  is  the  fairest  fortune  in  the  Colony  about  to  fall  into 
llic  hands  of  Pierre  Philibert — whom  Satan  confound  for  his 
iNMuance  !     A  fortune  which  I  always  regarded  as  mv  own  !  " 

"It  shows  the  folly  and  vanity  of  your  sex!  You  never 
^poke  a  word  to  Amelie  de  Kepentigny  in  the  way  of  wooing 
in  your  life  !  Girls  like  her  don't  drop  into  men's  arms  just 
fill  the  asking." 

"  I'sliaw !  as  if  she  would  refuse  me  if  you  only  acted  a 
>istcr"s  part!  But  you  are  impenetrable  as  a  rock,  and  the 
nliole  of  your  lickle  sex  could  not  match  your  vanity  and 
l^'iprice,  Angelique." 

She  ros(.'  quickly  with  a  provoked  air. 

"Vou  are  getting  .so  complimentary  to  my  poor  sex, 
luiiaud,"  said  she,  "that  I  nuist  really  leave  you  to  your- 
^t;lf.  and  I  could  scarcely  leave  you  !•:  wor.se  company." 

"  \  ou  are  .so  bitter  and  sarcastic  upon  one  I  "  rejilied  he, 
|tnily:  "my  only  desire  was  to  secure  a  good  fortune  for 
ty'ii,  and  another  for  myself.  [  don't  see,  for  my  [)art,  what 
h^micn  are  made  for,  except  to  mar  everything  a  man  wants 

do  for  himself  and  for  theml" 


2l8 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


"  Certainly  everything  should  be  done  for  us,  brother ;  but 
I  have  no  defence  to  make  for  my  sex,  none  !  I  dare  sav  ue 
women  deserve  all  that  men  think  of  us,  but  then  it  is  im- 
polite  to  tell  us  so  to  our  faces.  Now,  as  I  achised  you, 
Renaud,  I  would  counsel  you  to  study  gardening,  and  von 
may  one  day  arrive  at  as  great  distinction  as  the  Marquis  de 
Vandriere  —  you  may  cultivate  chou  chou  if  you  cannot  raise 
a  bride  like  Ame'lie  de  Repentigny." 

Angelique  knew  her  brother's  genius  was  not  penetrating', 
or  she  would  scarcely  have  ventured  this  broad  allusiuii  ic 
the  brother  of  La  Pompadour,  who,  by  virtue  of  his  relation- 
ship to  the  Court  favorite,  had  recently  been  created  Diroctur 
of  the  Royal  Gardens.  What  fancy  was  working  in  the  brain 
of  Angelique  when  she  alluded  to  him  may  be  only  suriiiised, 

The  Chevalier  was  indignant,  however,  at  an  implied 
comparison  between  himself  and  the  plebeian  Marquis  de 
Vandriere.     He  replied,  with  some  heat, — 

"  The  Marquis  de  Vandriere  !  How  dare  you  mention 
him  and  me  together!  There's  not  an  officer's  mess  in  the 
army  that  receives  the  son  of  the  fishmonger !  Why  do  you 
mention  him,  Angelique  ?     You  are  a  perfect  riddle  !  " 

''  1  only  thought  something  might  happen,  brother,  if  I 
should  ever  go  to  Paris  !  I  wa^.  acting  a  charade  in  my 
fancy,  and  that  was  the  solution  of  it !  " 

'What  was.^  Vou  would  drive  the  whole  Sorbonne  mad 
with  your  charades  and  fancies  !     But  I  must  leave  )  ou." 

"  Good-by,  brother, —  if  you  will  go.  Think  of  ill  — it 
you  want  to  rise  in  the  world  you  may  yet  become  a  roya! 
gardener  like  the  Marquis  de  Vandriere ! "  Her  silvery 
laugh  rang  out  good-humoredly  as  he  descended  the  slllir^ 
and  passed  out  of  the  he  use. 

She  sat  down  in  her  fauteuii.  "  Pity  Renau:!  is  such  a 
fool  !  "  said  she;  "yet  I  am  not  sure  but  he  is  wiser  in  lli^ 
folly  than  1  with  all  my  tact  and  cleverness,  which  1  suspcc: 
are  going  to  make  a  greater  fool  of  me  than  ever  he  is! " 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair  in  a  deep  thinkiiii;  mood. 
"It  is  iirowing  davk,"  murmured  she.  "  Le  (iardcur  vil! 
assuredly  l)e  here  soon,  in  s[)ile  of  all  the  attractions  of  hel- 
mont.  How  lo  deal  with  hiir  when  he  comes  is  more  than 
1  know  :  he  will  renew  his  suit,  1  am  sure." 

l"\)r  a   moment  the   heart  of  Angelique   softened  in  her 


PUT    MONEY    IN    THY    PURSE. 


219 


bosom.  "  Accept  him  I  must  not !  "  said  she  ;  "  affront  him 
I  will  not !  cease  to  love  him  is  out  of  my  power  as  much  as 
is  my  ability  to  love  the  Intendant,  whom  1  cordially  detest, 
and  shall  marry  all  the  same  !  "  She  pressed  her  hands  over 
her  eyes,  and  sat  silent  for  a  few  minutes.  "  But  I  am  not 
sure  of  it !  That  woman  remains  still  at  Beaumanoir ! 
Will  my  scheming  to  remove  her  be  all  in  vain  or  no  ? " 
Angelique  recollected  with  a  shudder  a  thought  that  had 
kaped  in  her  bosom,  like  a  young  Satan,  engendered  of  evil 
de.Mres.  •'  I  dare  hardly  look  in  the  honest  eyes  of  Le 
Gardeur  after  nursing  such  a  monstrous  fancy  as  that," 
said  she ;  "but  my  fate  is  fixed  all  the  same.  Le  Gardeur 
will  vainly  try  to  undo  this  knot  in  my  life,  but  he  must  leave 
me  to  my  own  devices."  To  what  devices  she  left  him  was 
a  thought  that  sprang  not  up  in  her  purely  selfish  nature. 

In  b.er  perplexity  Ange'lique  tied  knot  upon  knot  hard  as 
pebbles  in  her  handkerchief.  Those  knots  of  her  destiny, 
as  she  regarded  them,  she  left  untied,  and  they  remain 
untied  to  this  day  —  a  memento  of  her  character  and  of 
those  knots  in  her  life  which  posterity  has  puzzled  itself 
over  to  no  purpose  to  explain. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


RELMONT. 


A  SHORT  drive  from  the  gate  of  St.  John  stood  the  old 
mansion  of  l^ehnont,  the  country-seat  of  the  Bourireois 
Philibert  —  a  stately  park,  the  remains  of  the  primeval  forest 
of  oak,  maple,  and  pine  ;  trees  of  gigantic  growth  and  ample 
shade  surrounded  the  high-roofed,  many-gabled  house  that 
stood  on  the  heights  of  St.  Foye  overlooking  the  broad 
valley  of  the  St.  Charles.  The  bright  river  wound  like  a 
silver  serpent  through  the  Hat  meadows  in  the  bottom  of  the 
valley,  while  the  opposite  slopes  of  alternate  field  and  forest 
stretched  away  to  the  distant  range  of  the  Laurentian  hills, 
whose  pale  blue  summits  mingled  with  the  blue  sky  at  mid- 
day or,  wrapped  in  mist  at  morn  and  eve,  were  hardly  dis- 
tinguishable from  the  clouds  behind  them. 

The  gardens  and  lawns  of  Belmont  were  stirring  with  gay 
company  to-day  in  honor  of  the  fete  of  Pierre  Philibert  upon 
his  return  home  from  the  campaign  in  Acadia.  Troops  ut 
ladies  in  costumes  and  toilettes  of  the  latest  Parisian  fashion 
gladdened  the  eye  with  pictures  of  grace  and  beauty  which 
Paris  itself  could  not  have  surpassed.  Gentlemen  in  full 
dress,  in  an  age  when  dress  was  an  essential  pari  of  a 
gentleman's  distinction,  accompanied  the  ladies  with  the 
gallantry,  vivacity,  and  politeness  belonging  to  France,  and 
to  France  alone. 

Communication  with  the  mother  country  was  precarious 
and  uncertain  by  reason  of  the  war  and  the  blockade  of  the 
Gulf  by  the  Fnglish  cruisers.  Hence  the  good  ft)rliine  and 
daring  of  the  gallant  Captain  Martiniere  in  runniuij;  his 
frigate,  the  FIciir-dc-Lis,  through  the  fleet  of  the  eneniy, 
enabling  him  among  other  things  to  rei)lenish  the  wanlrohcs 
of  the  ladies  of  (Quebec  with  latest  Parisian  fashions,  made 
him  immensely  popular  on  this  gala  day.  The  kindness 
and  affability  of  the  ladies  extended  with(jut  diminution  dI 


BELMONT. 


22  I 


ffraciousness  to  the  little  midshipmen  even,  whom  the 
t'iiplain  conditioned  to  take  with  him  wherever  he  and  his 
officers  were  invited.  Captain  Martiniere  was  happy  to  .see 
the  lads  enjoy  a  few  cakes  on  shore  after  the  hard  biscuit 
they  iiad  so  long  nibbled  o.^  shipboard.  As  for  himself, 
there  was  no  end  to  the  gracious  smiles  and  thanks  he 
received  from  the  fair  ladies  at  Belmont. 

At  the  great  door  of  the  Manor  House,  welcoming  his  guests 
as  they  arrived,  stood  the  Bourgeois  Philibert,  dressed  as  a 
gentleman  of  the  period,  in  attire  rich  but  not  ostentatious. 
His  suit  of  dark  velvet  harmonized  well  with  his  noble 
nuiiiner  and  bearing.  But  no  one  for  a  moment  could  over- 
look tlie  man  in  contemplating  his  dress.  'I'he  keen,  dis- 
criminating eye  of  woman,  overlooking  neither  dress  nor 
man,  found  both  worthy  of  warmest  commendation,  and 
many  remarks  passed  between  the  ladies  on  that  day  that 
a  haiulsomer  man  and  more  rij)e  and  perfect  gentleman  than 
the  iiourgeois  Philibert  had  never  been  seen  in  New  France. 

His  grizzled  hair  grew  thickly  all  over  his  head,  the  sign 
nf  a  tenacious  constitution.  It  was  powdered  and  tied 
behind  with  a  broad  ribbon,  for  he  hated  perukes.  His 
iitrong,  shapely  figure  was  handsomely  conspicuous  as  he 
stood,  chapeau  in  hand,  greeting  his  guests  as  they  ap- 
proached. His  eyes  beamed  with  pleasure  and  hospitality, 
and  his  usually  grave,  thoughtful  lips  were  wreathed  in 
siiiiies,  the  sweeter  because  not  habitually  seen  upon  them. 

The  i)Ourgeois  had  this  in  common  with  all  complete  and 
earnest  characters,  that  the  people  believed  in  him  because 
they  saw  that  he  believed  in  himself.  His  friends  loved  and 
trusted  him  to  the  uttermost,  his  enemies  hated  and  feared 
him  in  equal  measure ;  but  no  one,  great  or  small,  could 
ignore  iiim  and  not  feel  his  presence  as  a  solid  piece  of 
manhood. 

It  is  not  intellect,  nor  activity,  nor  wealth,  that  obtains 
most  power  over  men  ;  but  force  of  character,  self-control, 
a  quiet,  compressed  will  and  patient  resolve  ;  these  qualities 
make  one  man  the  natural  ruler  over  others  by  a  title  they 
never  dispute. 

The  party  of  the  Honiietcs  Gciis^  the  "honest  folks"  as 
they  were  derisively  called  by  their  opponents,  regarded  the 
Bourgeois  Philibert  as    their  natural  leader.     His  force  of 


Till".  cioi.OKX    hoc;. 


character  made  men  williiif^ly  stand  in  his  shadow.  Hi, 
clear  intellect,  never  at  fault,  had  extended  his  power  and 
influence  by  means  of  his  vast  mercantile  operations  over 
half  the  continent.  His  position  as  the  foremost  merchant 
of  New  France  brouf2;ht  him  in  the  front  of  the  people;, 
battle  with  the  Grand  Company,  and  in  opposition  to  the 
financial  policy  of  the  Intendant  and  the  mercantile  assump- 
tion of  the  Friponne. 

J>ut  the  personal  hostility  between  the  Intendant  and  the 
I3ourj;eois  had  its  root  and  origin  in  France,  before  eiihe'rof 
them  crossed  the  ocean  to  the  hither  shore  of  the  Atlantic. 
The  Bourgeois  had  been  made  very  sensible  of  a  fact  vitallv 
affecting  him,  that  the  decrees  of  the  Intendant,  osten-<il)iv 
for  the  regulation  of  trade  in  New  France,  had  been  shaiplv 
pointed  against  himself.  "They  draw  blood!"  bigot  had 
boasted  to  his  familiars  as  he  rubbed  his  hands  together 
with  inten.se  satisfaction  one  day,  when  he  learned  that  I'hi! 
ibert's  large  trading-post  in  Mackinaw  had  been  clcsed  in 
con,sequencc  of  the  Indians  having  been  commanded  bv 
royal  authority,  exercised  by  the  Intendant,  to  trade  onh  ai 
the  comptoirs  of  the  Grand  (  '^'npany.  "  'Jliey  draw  blood  :' 
repeated  he,  "and  will  draw  the  life  yet  out  of  the  Golden 
Dog."  It  was  plain  the  ancient  grudge  of  the  courtly  para 
site  had  not  lost  a  tooth  during  all  those  years. 

The  Bourgeois  was  not  a  man  to  talk  of  his  private  griefs, 
or  seek  sympathy,  or  even  ask  counsel  or  help.  Me  knew 
the  world  was  engrossed  with  its  own  cares.  The  worlii 
cares  not  to  look  under  the  surface  of  things  for  sake  of 
others,  but  only  for  its  own  sake,  its  own  interests,  it.s  own 
pleasures. 

To-day,  however,  cares,  griefs,  and  resentments  were  cast 
aside,  and  the  Bourgeois  was  all  joy  at  the  return  of  his  only 
son,  and  proud  of  Pierre's  achievements,  and  still  more  of 
the  honors  spontaneously  paid  him.  He  stood  at  the  door, 
welcoming  arrival  after  arrival,  the  happiest  man  of  al!  the 
joyous  company  who  honored  Belmont  that  day. 

A  carriage  with  outriders  l)rought  the  Count  de  la  (lalis- 
soniere  and  his  friend  Hcrr  Kalm  and  Dr.  Gauthier,  the  kbt 
a  rich  old  bachelor,  hand.some  and  generous,  the  physician 
and  savant  par  excellence  of  (Quebec.  After  a  most  cordial 
reception  by  the  Bourgeois  the  Governor  walked  among  the 


BELMONT. 


22  ^ 


'uests,  who  had  crowded  up  to  greet  him  witli  the  respect 
^lue  10  the  King's  representative,  as  well  as  to  show  their 
personal  regard  ;  for  the  Count's  popularity  was  unbounded 
in  the  Colony  except  among  the  partisans  of  the  Grand  Com- 
pany. 

i4err  Ivalm  was  presently  enticed  away  by  a  bevy  of  young 
ladies.  Hortense  de  Beauharnais  leading  them,  to  get  the 
learned  professor's  opinion  on  some  rare  specimens  of  botany 
crowing  in  the  park.  Nothing  loath  —  for  he  was  good-natured 
as  he  was  clever,  and  a  great  enthusiast  withal  in  the  study 
of  plants  — he  allowed  the  merry,  talkative  girls  to  lead  him 
where  they  would.  He  delighted  them  in  turn  by  his  agree- 
al)le.  instructive  conversation,  which  was  rendered  still  more 
piquant  by  the  odd  medley  of  French,  Latin,  and  Swedish  in 
which  it  was  expressed. 

An  inliux  of  fresh  arrivals  next  poured  into  the  park  — 
the  Chevalier  de  la  Corne,  with  his  pretty  daughter,  Agathe 
laCorne  St.  Luc;  the  Lady  de  Tilly  and  Amelie  de  Repen- 
tii^nv,  with  the  brothers  de  Villiers.  The  brothers  had  over- 
taken the  C'.ievalier  La  Corne  upon  the  road,  but  the  cu.stom 
of  the  highway  in  New  France  forbade  any  one  passing 
another  without  politely  asking  permission  to  do  so, 

"Ves,  Coulon,"  replied  the  Chevalier;  "ride  on!"  He 
winked  pleasantly  at  his  daughter  as  he  said  this.  "  There 
is,  I  suppose,  nothing  left  for  an  old  fellow  who  dates  from 
the  sixteen  hundreds  but  to  take  the  side  of  the  road  and  let 
you  pass.  I  should  have  liked,  however,  to  stir  up  the  fire 
in  my  gallant  little  Norman  ponies  against  your  big  New 
England  horses.     Where  did  you  get  them  ?    Can  they  run  ?  " 

"We  got  them  in  the  sack  of  Saratoga,"  replied  Coulon, 

and  they  ran  well  that  day,  but  we  overtook  them.  Would 
.Mademoiselle  La  Corne  care  if  we  try  them  now?" 

Scarcely  a  girl  in  Quebec  would  have  declined  the  excite- 
ment of  a  race  on  the  highroad  of  St.  Foye,  and  Agathe 
would  fain  have  driven  herself  in  the  race,  but  being  in  full 
dress  to-day,  she  thought  of  her  wardrobe  and  the  company. 
She  checked  the  ardor  of  her  father,  and  entered  the  park 
demurely,  as  one  of  the  gravest  of  the  guests. 

"Happy  youths!  Noble  lads,  Agathe  !  "  exclaimed  the 
Chevalier,  admiringly,  as  the  brothers  rode  rapidly  past 
them.     "  New  France  will  be  proud  of  them  some  day !  " 


224 


TIIK    Ci<JLI)EN    DOG. 


The  rest  of  the  company  now  began  to  arrive  in  (|iijii^ 
succession.  'I'he  lawn  was  crowded  with  guests,  -'[^.i^ 
thousand  thanks  for  coming  !  "  e.xchiimed  Pierre  I'hiljliMr;, 
as  lie  assisted  .Amelie  de  Repentigny  and  the  Lady  de  Tilh 
to  alight  from  their  carriage. 

"  We  could  not  choose  but  come  to-day,  Pierre."  ixpliLii 
Amelie,  feeling  without  displeasure  the  momentary  lin^eriiv, 
of  his  hand  as  it  touched  hers.  "  Nothing  short  of  an  caitL 
quake  would  have  kept  aunt  at  home,"  added  she,  danini:  ,i 
merry  glance  of  sympathy  with  her  aunt's  suppo.sed  feelings. 

"  And  you,  Amelie  ? "'  Pierre  looked  into  those  dark  ovt^ 
which  shyly  turned  aside  from  his  gaze. 

"I  was  an  obedient  niece,  and  accompanied  her.  It  is  so 
easy  to  persuade  people  to  go  where  they  wish  to  go!"  She 
withdrew  her  hand  gently,  and  took  his  arm  as  he  CMuducid 
the  ladies  into  the  house.  She  felt  a  Hush  on  her  check,  l)ut 
it  did  not  prevent  her  saying  in  her  frank,  kindly  way,  —  •  I 
was  glad  to  come  to-day,  Pierre,  to  witness  this  gathering;  nf 
the  best  and  noblest  in  the  land  to  honor  your  fete.  .\uiu 
de  Tilly  has  always  predicted  greatness  for  you." 

*'  And  you,  Amelie,  doubted,  knowing  me  a  shade  better 
than  your  aunt  ?  " 

"  No,  1  believed  her ;  so  true  a  prophet  as  aunt  siirijy 
deserved  one  firm  believer  !  " 

Pierre  felt  the  electric  thrill  run  throuijh  him  which  a  man 
feels  at  the  moment  he  discovers  a  woman  believes  in  him. 
"Your  presence  here  to-day,  Ame'lie  !  you  cannot  think  how 
sweet  it  is,"  said  he. 

Her  hand  trembled  upon  his  arm.  She  thought  nothini; 
could  be  sweeter  than  such  words  from  Pierre  Philibeii. 
With  a  charming  indirectness,  however,  which  did  not  escape 
him,  she  replied,  "  Le  (lardeur  is  very  proud  of  you  to-day, 
Pierre." 

He  laid  his  fingers  upon  her  hand.  It  was  a  ilelicate 
little  hand,  but  with  the  strength  of  an  angel's  it  had 
moulded  his  destiny  and  led  him  to  the  honorable  positioii 
he  had  attained.  He  was  profoundly  conscious  at  thi> 
moment  of  what  he  owed  to  this  girl's  silent  inlhunce. 
He  contented  himself,  however,  with  saying,  "1  will  i" 
strive  that  one  day  Ame'lie  de  Repentigny  shall  not  shame 
to  say  she  too  is  proud  of  me." 


fiMii';  from  tht 


BELMONT. 


22  C 


ihade  better 


aunt  siiR'lv 


She  did  not  reply  for  a  moment.  A  tremor  agitated  her 
low,  sweet  voice.  *'  1  am  proud  of  you  now,  Pierre,  -  more 
proud  than  words  can  tell  to  see  you  so  honored,  and  proud- 
est to  think  you  deserve  it  all.'' 

It  touched  him  almost  to  tears.  ''Thanks,  Amelie ;  when 
vou  are  proud  of  me  I  shall  oegin  to  feel  pride  of  myself. 
Vour  opinion  is  the  one  thing  in  life  I  have  most  cared  for, 
-vour  approbation  is  my  best  reu'ard." 

ilcr  eyes  were  eloquent  with  unspoken  words,  but  she 
thought,  "  If  that  were  all ! "  Pierre  Philibert  had  long 
received  the  silent  reward  of  her  good  opinion  and  approba- 
tion 

The  IJourgeois  at  this  moment  came  up  to  salute  Amelie 
and  the  Lady  de  Tilly. 

"The  Bourgeois  Philibert  has  the  most  perfect  manner  of 
anv  gentleman  in  New  France,"  was  the  remark  of  the  Lady 
de  Tilly  to  Amelie,  as  he  left  them  again  to  receive  other 
quests.  "They  say  he  can  be  rough  and  imperious  some- 
times to  those  he  dislikes,  but  to  his  friends  and  strangers, 
and  especially  to  ladies,  no  breath  of  spring  can  be  more 
gentle  and  balmy."  AmeTie  assented  with  a  mental  reserva- 
tion in  the  depths  of  her  dark  eyes,  and  in  the  dimple  that 
flashed  upon  her  cheek  as  sne  suppressed  the  utterance  of  a 
pleasant  fancy  in  reply  to  her  aunt. 

Pierre  conducted  the  ladies  to  the  great  drawing-room, 
which  was  already  filled  with  company,  who  overwhelmed 
Amelie  and  her  aunt  with  the  vivacity  of  their  greeting. 

In  a  tine  shady  grove  at  a  short  distance  from  the  house, 
a  row  of  tables  was  set  for  the  entertainment  of  several  hun- 
d'eds  of  the  hardy  dependents  of  the  Pourgeois;  for  while 
feasting  the  rich  the  Bourgeois  would  not  forget  his  poorer 
friends,  and  perhaps  his  most  exquisite  sat!  ifaction  was  in 
ilie  inirestrained  enjoyment  of  his  hospitality  by  the  crowd 
of  happy,  hungry  fellows  and  their  families,  who,  under  the 
direction  of  his  chief  factor,  filled  the  tables  from  end  to  end, 
and  made  the  park  resound  with  songs  and  merriment  — 
fellows  of  infinite  gaiety,  with  appetites  of  Gargantuas  and 
a  capacity  for  good  liquors  that  reminded  one  of  the  tubs  of 
the  Danaides.  The  tables  groaned  beneath  mountains  of 
^'ood  things,  and  in  the  centre  of  each,  like  Mont  Plane 
rising  from  the  lower  Alps,  stood  a  magnificent  Easter  pie, 


226 


TIIK    GOLDEN    DOG. 


the  confection  of  which  was  a  masterpiece  of  the  skill  o; 
Maiire  Guillot  Gobet,  the  head  cook  of  the  Bourgeois,  who 
was  rather  put  out,  however,  when  Dame  Rochelle  decided 
to  bestow  all  the  Easter  pies  upon  the  hungry  voyaji;L'ui\ 
woodmen,  and  workmen,  and  banished  them  from  the  menu 
of  the  more  patrician  tables  set  for  the  guests  of  thi 
mansion. 

"  Yet,  after  all,"  exclaimed  Maitre  Guillot,  as  he  thruv 
his  head  out  of  the  kitchen  door  to  listen  tcj  the  soni;  tla 
gay  fellows  were  singing  with  all  their  lungs  in  h(jiior  (i 
his  Easter  pie  ;  "  after  all,  the  fine  gentlemen  and  la(lil^ 
would  not  have  paid  my  noble  pies  such  honor  as  that  1  and 
what  is  more  the  pies  would  not  have  been  eaten  u]i  to  ihc 
last  crumb  !  "  Maitre  Guillot's  face  beamed  like  a  harviv 
moon,  as  he  chimed  in  with  the  well-known  ditty  in  praise 
of  the  great  pie  of  Rouen  : 

"*C'est  dans  la  ville  dc  Rouen, 
lis  ont  fait  iin  pate  si  grand, 
lis  ont  fait  un  pate  si  grand, 
Qu'ils  ont  trouvc  un  homme  dedans! '  " 

Maitre  Guillot  would  fain  have  been  nearer,  to  share  in 
the  shouting  and  clapping  of  hands  which  followed  ik 
saying  of  grace  by  the  good  Cure'  of  St.  Foye,  and  to  see 
how  vigorously  knives  were  handled,  and  how  chins  wagged 
in  the  delightful  task  of  levelling  down  mountains  of  iiiea;. 
while  Gascon  wine  and  Norman  cider  flowed  from  ever 
replenished  flagons. 

The  Bourgeois  and  his  son,  with  many  of  his  chief  guosiv 
honored  for  a  time  the  merry  feast  out-of-doors,  and  wci 
almost  inundated  by  the  flowing  cups  drunk  to  the  lica!;; 
and  happiness  of  the  Bourgeois  and  of  Pierre  Philibert. 

Maitre  Guillot  Gobet  returned  to  his  kitchen,  where  li: 
stirred  up  his  cooks  and  scullions  on  all  sides,  to  make  i;; 
for  the  loss  of  his  Easter  pies  on  the  grand  tables  in  tin 
hall,  lie  capered  among  them  like  a  marionette,  directin;. 
here,  scolding  there,  laughing,  joking,  or  with  upliftet 
hands  and  stamping  feet  despairing  of  his  underlings 
cooking  a  dinner  fit  for  the  fete  of  Pierre  Philibert. 

Maitre  Guilot  was  a  little,  fat,  red-nosed  fellow,  with 
twinkling    black    eyes,    and  a  mouth  irascible  as  that  of  ;i 


HKLMONT. 


227 


cake-baker  of  Lerna.  His  heart  was  of  the  right  paste, 
however,  and  full  as  a  butter-boat  of  the  sweet  sauce  of 
liood  nature,  which  he  was  ready  to  pour  over  the  heads 
of  all  his  fellows  who  quietly  submitted  to  his  dictation. 
But  woe  to  man  or  maid  servant  who  delayed  or  disputed 
his  royal  orders  !  An  Indian  typhoon  instantly  blew.  At 
such  a  time  even  Dame  Rochelle  would  gather  her  petticoats 
round  her  and  hurry  out  of  the  storm,  which  always  sub- 
>\dcd  (luickly  in  proportion  to  the  violence  of  its  rage. 

Mailre  Guillot  knew  what  he  was  about,  however.  Me 
did  not  use,  he  said,  to  wipe  his  nose  with  a  herring !  and 
on  thai  day  he  was  going  to  cook  a  dinner  fit  for  the  Pope 
after  Lent,  or  even  for  the  Reverend  Father  I)e  IJerey  him- 
self, who  was  the  truest  gourmet  and  the  best  trencherman 
in  New  I''rance. 

Mailre  (luillot  honored  his  master,  but  in  his  secret  soul 
he  (lid  not  think  his  taste  ciuite  woilhy  of  his  cook!  Ikit 
he  worshipped  Father  l)e  IJerey,  and  gloried  in  the  infallible 
jud^MDent  and  correct  taste  of  cookery  possessed  by  the 
jolly  Recollet.  The  single  approbation  of  Father  l)e  I»erey 
was  worth  more  than  the  praise  of  a  world  full  of  ordinary 
eating  mortals,  who  smacked  their  lips  and  said  things  were 
;;ood,  but  who  knew  no  more  than  one  of  the  Ctv//  Su/sscs 
why  things  were  good,  or  could  appreciate  the  talents  of  an 
artiste  of  the  cordon  blcic. 

Mailre  (niillot's  Easter  pie  had  been  a  splendid  success. 
"It  was  worthy,"  he  said,  "to  be  placed  as  a  crown  on  top 
of  the  new  Cathedral  of  St.  Marie,  and  receive  the  consecra- 
tion of  the  IJishop." 

Lest  the  composition  of  it  should  be  forgotten,  Maitre 
Ouillol  had,  with  the  solemnity  of  a  deacon  intoning  the 
litany,  ravished  the  ear  of  Jules  Painchaud,  his  future  son- 
in-law,  as  he  taught  him  the  secrets  of  its  confection. 

With  his  white  cap  set  rakishly  on  one  side  of  his  head 
ind  arms  akimbo,  Maitre  Guillot  gave  Jules  the  famous 
recipe : 

"Inside  of  circular  walls  of  pastry  an  inch  thick,  and  so 
li'di  as  easily  to  be  pulled  down,  and  roomy  enough  w'ithin 
f'lr  the  Court  of  King  Pepin,  lay  first  a  thick  stratum  of 
mince-meat  of  two  savory  hams  of  Westj^halia,  and  if  you 
cannot  get  them,  of  two  hams  of  our  habitans." 


228 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


"Of  our  habitans ! "  ejaculated  Jules,  with  an  air  of  con 
sternation. 

"Precisely!  don't  interrupt  nie! "  Maitre  (luillot  grew 
red  about  the  gills  in  an  instant.  Jules  was  silenced,  ••[ 
have  said  it ! "  cried  he  ;  "  two  hams  of  our  habitans  !  \\\\x, 
have  you  to  say  against  it       stock  fish,  eh  ? " 

"Oh,  nothing,  sir,"  replied  Jules,  with  humility,  "onlvl 
thought — "  Poor  Jules  would  have  consented  to  cal  hi> 
thought  rather  than  fall  out  with  the  fatlu-r  of  his  Suscttc, 

"  You  thought  ! ''  Maitre  Guillot's  face  was  a  ^tiulv  f.ir 
Hogarth,  who  alone  could  nave  painted  the  alto  tone  ni 
voice  as  it  proceeded  from  his  round  O  of  a  iiiumli, 
"  Susette  shall  remain  upon  my  hands  an  old  maid  fm 
the  term  of  her  natural  life  if  you  dispute  the  confection 
of  Easter  pie  !  " 

"Now  listen,  Jules,"  continued  he,  at  once  molli.'i'.'d  In 
the  contrite,  submissive  air  of  his  future  son-in-law:  "  I'pcn 
the  foundation  of  the  mince-'\ieat  of  two  hams  of  Wesiphalia, 
■ —  or,  if  you  cannot  get  them,  of  two  hams  of  our  hahilans, 
—  place  scientiiically  the  nicely-cut  pieces  of  a  fat  turkey, 
leaving  his  head  to  stick  out  of  the  upper  cru.st,  in  evidence 
that  Master  Dindon  lies  buried  there  !  Add  two  fat  capons, 
two  plump  partridges,  two  j^igeons,  and  the  back  and  diighs 
of  a  brace  of  juicy  hares,  [''ill  up  the  whole  with  beaten  ep;gs, 
and  the  rich  contents  will  resemble,  as  a  poet  ndsj,ht  say, 
'fossils  of  the  rock  in  golden  yolks  embedded  and  en  jellied'' 
Season  as  you  would  a  saint.  Cover  with  a  slab  of  pastry. 
Bake  it  as  you  would  cook  an  angel,  and  not  singe  a  feather. 
Then  let  it  cool,  and  eat  it!  And  then,  Jules,  as  the  Rever 
eiicl  Father  de  lierey  always  says  after  grace  over  an  basicr 


pie. 


Dominui  vobiscuni  1 


CHAPTER   XXI. 


SIC    ITUR    AD    ASTRA. 


THF-  old  hall  of  Belmont  had  been  decorated  for  many 
a  feast  since  the  times  of  its  founder,  the  Intendant 
Talon ;  but  it  had  never  contained  a  nobler  company  of  fair 
women  and  brave  men,  the  pick  and  ciioice  of  their  race, 
than  to-day  met  '-ound  the  hospitable  and  splendid  table  of 
the  liourgeois  Philibert  in  honor  of  the  fete  of  his  gallant  son. 

liinncr  was  duly  and  decorously  despatched.  The  social 
f.ishi(,)n  of  New  France  was  not  for  the  ladies  to  withdraw 
when  the  wine  followed  the  feast,  but  to  remain  seated  with 
the  <i;entlemen,  purifying  the  conversation,  and  by  their 
presence  restraining  the  coarseness  which  was  the  almost 
universal  vice  of  the  age. 

A  troop  c^  nimble  servitors  carried  off  the  carved  dishes 
and  fragments  of  the  splended  pdfissrr.u's  of  Maitre  CJuillot, 
in  such  a  state  ot  demolition  as  satisfied  the  critical  eye  of 
the  chief  cook  that  the  efforts  of  his  genius  had  been  very 
Miccessful.  He  inspected  the  dishes  through  his  spectacles. 
He  knew,  by  what  was  left,  the  ability  of  the  guests  to  dis- 
niminatc  what  they  had  eaten  and  to  do  justice  to  his  skill. 
lie  considered  himself  a  sort  of  pervading  divinity,  whose 
ailinary  ideas  passing  with  his  cookery  into  the  l)odies  of 
tile  quests  enabled  them,  on  'etiring  from  the  feast,  to  carry 
iway  as  part  of  themselves  some  of  the  fine  essence  of 
Maiirc  ('lobet  himself. 

At  the  head  of  his  table,  peeling  oranges  and  slicing 
pineapples  for  the  ladies  in  his  vicinity,  sat  the  liourgeois 
liiniselt.  laughing,  jesting,  and  telling  anecdotes  with  a  gen- 
iality that  was  contagious.  "'The  gods  are  merry  some- 
times,' says  Homer,  '  and  their  laughter  shakes  Olympus!'" 
h^.ts  the  classical  remark  of  l'"ather  de  Herey,  at  the  other 
h-nd  of  the  table.  Jupiter  tlid  not  laugh  with  less  loss  of  dig- 
'iiity  than  the  liourgeois. 

339 


230 


'IIIK    (lOLDEN    DOG. 


Few  of  the  guests  did  not  remember  to  the  end  of  their 
lives  the  majestic  and  happy  countenance  of  the  Bourgeois 
on  this  memorable  day. 

At  his  right  hand  sat  Amelie  de  Repentigny  and  the 
Count  de  la  Galissonicre.  The  (Governor,  charmed  with 
the  beauty  and  agreeableness  of  the  young  chatelaine,  had 
led  her  in  to  dinner,  and  devoted  himself  to  her  and  the 
Lady  de  Tilly  with  the  perfection  of  gallantry  of  a  gentleman 
of  th:^  politest  court  in  Kurope.  On  his  left  sat  the  radiant, 
dark-eyed  Hortense  de  Heauharnais.  With  a  gay  assump- 
tion of  independence  Hortense  had  taken  the  ami  of  La 
Corne  St.  Luc,  and  declared  slie  would  eat  no  dinner  unless 
he  would  be  her  cavalier  and  sit  beside  her !  The  gallant 
old  soldier  surrendered  at  discretion.  He  laughingly  con- 
sented to  be  her  citptive.  he  said,  for  he  had  no  power  and 
no  desire  but  to  obey.  Hortense  was  proud  of  her  conquest, 
She  seated  herself  by  his  side  with  an  air  of  triumph  and 
mock  gravity,  tapping  him  with  her  fan  whenever  she 
detected  his  eye  roving  round  the  table,  compassionating, 
she  affirmed,  her  rivals,  who  had  faih  d  where  she  had  won 
in  securing  the  youngest,  the  handsomest,  and  most  gallant 
of  all  the  gentlemen  at  Belmont. 

"Not  so  fast,  Hortense!"  exclaimed  the  gay  Chevalier; 
"you  have  captured  me  by  mistake!  The  tall  Swede  he 
is  your  man  !  The  other  ladies  all  know  that,  and  are 
anxious  to  get  me  out  of  your  toils,  so  that  you  may  be  free 
to  ensnare  the  philosopher  !  " 

"  But  you  don't  wish  to  get  away  from  me  !  I  am  \()Ui 
garland,  Chevalier,  and  you  shall  wear  me  to-day.  As  for 
the  tall  Swede,  he  has  no  idea  of  a  fair  Hower  of  our  sc\ 
except  to  wear  it  in  his  button-hole,  —  this  way  !  "  added  she, 
pulling  a  rose  out  of  a  vase  and  archly  adorning  the  Cheva- 
lier's vest  with  it. 

"All  pretence  and  jealousy,  mademoiselle.  The  tail 
Swede  knows  how  to  take  down  your  i)ride  and  brinu  \m 
lo  a  proper  sense  of  your  false  conceit  of  the  beauty  :iii*l 
wit  of  the  ladies  of  New   h'rance." 

Hortenst;  gave  two  or  three  tosses  of  defiance  to  express 
her  emphatic  dissent  from  his  opinions. 

"  1  wish  Herr  Kalm  would  lend  me  his  philosophic  scales, 
to   weigh   your   sex    like    lambs   in    market,"   continued  l^^ 


("orne  St.  Lu 
measure  womt 
of  a  man." 

"And  the  i 
too  scril'ttim  i 
ten  merry  me 
him  select  wf 
osophy  is  iosi 
weigh  by  sam 
France  !  "  SI 
Chevalier,"  sa 
>ake  of  Cecik 
some  gay  bad 
the  other  side 
examined  it  ch 
a  cross,  which 
hy  a  frizz  of  I 
to  those  who  1 
pered  to  each 

Le  Garden r 
very  sociable  i 
conversation  s 
who  was  visihl 
some  gallant. 

At  this  mom 
'A ho  occupied  ; 
Vocal  response 
Ity  the  l)()urge< 
ili'M,"  exclaimi 
Ivad  the  royal 

•'  Vi-  /•  'Ro. 
vmg  Mass,  or 
hear  the  royal 
il  out  ,)i\'  rofit 
tir-I  duty  is  t( 
•111(1  New  h'rai 
i'luiained  in  e 

"Never,   Ch 
fall  together  I 
'>';;■  "p. 

The   whole 


SIC    ITUR    AD    ASTRA. 


231 


Come  St.  Luc ;  "  but  I  fear  I  am  too  old,  Hortense,  to 
measure  women  except  by  the  fathom,  which  is  the  measure 
of  a  iiKin." 

"  And  the  measure  of  a  man  is  the  mearure  of  an  anj-^el 
too  scriptnni  est,  Chevalier  !  "  replied  she.  Hortense  t.ad 
tL'ii  merry  meanings  in  her  eye,  and  looked  as  if  bidding 
him  select  which  he  chose.  "  The  learned  Swede's  phil- 
osophy is  lost  upon  me,"  continued  she,  "  he  can  neither 
weigli  by  sample  nor  measure  by  fathom  the  girls  of  New 
1  ranee  ! "'  She  tapped  him  on  the  arm.  "  Lisien  to  me, 
( hcvalier,"  said  she,  "  you  are  neglecting  me  already  for 
>;iko  of  ("ecile  'i'ourangeau  !  "  La  Corne  was  exchanging 
some  f,^;iy  badin  \ge  with  a  graceful,  pretty  young  lady  on 
the  other  side  of  the  table,  whose  snowy  forehead,  if  you 
examined  it  closely,  was  marked  with  a  red  scar,  in  figure  of 
a  cross,  which,  although  powdered  and  partially  concealed 
bv  a  friz/,  of  her  thick  blonde  hair,  was  sufficic'i^-'v  distinct 
lu  those  who  looked  for  it ;  and  many  did  so,  as  they  whis- 
pered to  each  other  the  story  of  how  she  got  it. 

Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  sat  by  Cecile,  talking  in  a 
verv  sociable  manner,  which  was  also  commented  on.  His 
conversation  seemed  to  be  very  attractive  to  the  young  lady, 
who  was  visihJy  delighted  with  the  attentions  of  her  hand- 
some !;alhrnt. 

At  this  moment  a  burst  of  instruments  from  the  musicians, 
who  oecupied  a  gallery  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  announced  a 
'ual  response  to  the  toast  of  the  King's  health,  proposed 
lA  the  liourgcois.  "  I?repare  yourself  for  the  chorus,  (Miev- 
ilior."  exclaimed  Hortense.  "  Father  de  Herey  is  going  to 
kad  the  royal  anthem  !  " 

"  r/rr  /•  Roi !'"  replied  La  Corne.  "  No  finer  voice  ever 
sanp:  Mass,  or  chanted  'Cod  Save  the  King!'  I  like  to 
hear  the  royal  anthem  from  the  li|)S  of  a  churchman  rolling 
it  luii  ,)/,■  rofitii(h>,  like  one  of  the  I'salms  of  David.  Our 
tiiM  (hity  is  to  love  (iod,  our  next  to  honor  the  King! 
"Ill  New  l''rance  will  never  fail  in  either!"  Loyalty  was 
iniiiainecl  in  every  fibre  of   La   ("oiiif   St.  Luc. 

".N'e\er,  Chevalier.  \,\\\\  and  (l(jspcl  rule  together,  or 
fall  together !  lUit  we  must  rise,"  replied  Hortense,  spring- 
iiifl  up. 

I'he   whole    company    rose    simultaneously.       The    rich, 


232 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


mellow  voice  of  the  Rev.  Father  de  IJerey,  round  and  full 
as  the  organ  of  Ste.  Marie,  commenced  the  royal  anthim 
composed  by  Liilli  in  honor  of  Louis  Quatorze,  upon  an 
occasion  of  his  visit  to  the  famous  Convent  of  St.  Cyr,  in 
company  with  Madame  de  Maintenon. 

The  song  composed  by  Madame  Brinon  was  afterwards 
translated  into  English,  and  words  and  music  became,  by  ?. 
singular  transposition,  the  national  hymn  of  the  lMi>;lisli 
nation. 

"  (iod  Save  the  King  !  "  is  no  longer  heard  in  !•  rancc, 
It  was  buried  with  the  people's  loyalty,  fathoms  deep  iukIli 
the  ruins  of  the  monarchy.  But  it  flourishes  still  with 
pristine  vigor  in  New  France,  that  olive  branch  graflt'd  on 
the  stately  tree  of  the  IJritish  Empire.  The  broad  chchi 
and  Hexile  lips  of  Father  de  ]]erey  rang  out  the  grand  old 
song  in  tones  that  filled  the  stately  old  hall  : 


"  '  Grand  Dieu  !  Sauvez  le  Roi ! 
Grand  Dieu  !  Sauvez  le  Roi ! 
Sauvez  le  Roi ! 
Que  toujouis  glorieux. 
Louis  Victorieux, 
Voye  ses  ennemis 
Toujours  soumis  ! '  " 


The  friar,  i 


The  company  all  joined  in  the  chorus,  the  gentlemen 
raising  their  cups,  the  ladies  waving  their  handkeiciiioK 
and  male  and  female  b'ending  in  a  storm  of  applause  lluu 
made  the  old  walls  ring  with  joy.  Songs  and  speeches 
followed  in  quick  succession,  cutting  as  with  a  golden  blade 
tlie  hours  of  tlic  dessert  into  quinzaines  of  varied  pleasures. 

The  custom  of  the  times  had  reduced  speeclimakin^  after 
dinner  to  a  minimum.  Tiie  ladies,  as  Father  de  liiitv 
wittily  remarked,  preferred  private  confession  to  public 
preaching ;  and  long  speeches,  without  inlets  lor  reply, 
were  the  eighth  mortal  sin   which   no  lady  would  foruivo. 

The  l)()urgeois,  however,  felt  it  incuml)eiit  u|K)U  biiiiMlt 
to  express  his  deep  thanks  for  the  honor  done  his  house  on 
this  auspicious  occasion.  And  he  remarked  that  the  doors 
of  ilelmont,  so  long  closed  by  reason  of  the  absence  uf 
Pierre,  would  hereafter  be  ever  ojien  to  welcome  all  lii> 
friends,      lie  had  that  day  made  a  gift  of  Jielmont,  with  a'i 


SIC    ITUR    AD    ASTRA. 


233 


its  belonji;ings,  to  Pierre,  and  he  hoped,  —  J-'e  Bourgeois 
smiled  as  he  said  this,  but  he  would  not  look  in  a  quarter 
where  iiis  words  struck  home,  —  he  hoped  that  some  one  of 
Quebec's  fair  daughters  would  assist  Pierre  in  the  menage 
of  his  home  and  enable  him  to  do  honor  to  his  house- 
keeping. 

iiiiinense  was  the  applause  that  followed  the  short,  pithy 
speech  of  the  Bourgeois.  The  ladies  blushed  and  praised, 
the  gentlemen  cheered  and  enjoyed  in  anticipation  the 
renewal   of    the    old    hospitalities    of    Belmont, 

"The   skies    are    raining    plum    cakes!"    exclaimed    the 
Chevalier  La  Corne  to  his  lively  companion.     "  Joy's  golden 
drops  are  only  distilled  in  the  alembic  of  woman's  heart  1 
What  think  you,  Hortense  ?     Which  of  Quebec's  fair  daugh 
ters  will  be  willing  to  share  IJelmont  with  Pierre  ?  " 

"Oh.  any  of  them  would!"  replied  she.  "But  why  did 
the  Bourgeois  restrict  his  choice  to  the  ladies  of  Quebec, 
when  he  knew  I  came  from  the  Three  Rivers  ? " 

••  Oh,  he  was  afraid  of  you,  Hortense ;  you  would  make 
liilmont  too  good  for  this  world  !  What  say  you.  Father  de 
llcrry  ?     Do  you  ever  walk  on  the  cape  ?  " 

The  friar,  in  a  merry  mood,  had  l^een   edging  close  to 

Hortense.     "  I  love,  of  all  things,  to  air  my  gray  gown  on 

[the  cape  of  a  breezy  afternoon,"  replied  the  jovial   Kecollet, 

when  the  fashionables  are  all  out,  and  every  lady  is  put- 
in;^  her  best  foot  foremost.  It  is  then  I  feel  sure  that 
ioruce  is  the  next  best  thing  to  the  Homilies  : 

'"  Teretesque  suras  lauclo,  et  integer  ego  ! '  " 


The  (Mievalier  La  (.'orne  pinched  the  shrugging  shoulder 

III  Hortense  as  he  remarked,  "  Don't  confess  to  l"\ither  de 

ilLiey  that  you  promenade  on  the  cape!      Hut  I  hope  Pierre 

I'liilihert  will  soon  make  his  choice  !     We  are  imi)atient  to 

|\isit  him  and  give  old  i'rovenc^al  the  butler  a  run  every  day 

iiouifji  those  dark  crypts  of  his,  where  lie  entombed  tiie 
Khoicest  vintages  of  sunny   l'"raace." 

The  ('he\alier  said  this  waggishly,  for  the  benefit  of  old 

'I'Henral.  who  stood  behind  his  chair  looking  half  alarmed 
iUlho  threatened  raid  upon  his  wellTllled  cellars. 
"But  if   Pierre   should   not  commit   matrimony,"   replied 


234 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


Hortense,  "  what  will  become  of  him  ?  and  especially  what 
will  become  of  us  ?  " 

"  We  will  drink  his  wine  all  the  same,  good  fellow  that  he 
is !  But  Pierre  had  as  lief  commit  suicide  as  not  commit 
matrimony ;  and  who  would  not  ?  Look  here,  Pierre  Phili- 
bert,"  continued  the  old  soldier,  addressing  him  with  good- 
humored  freedom.  "  Matrimony  is  clearly  your  duty,  Pierre; 
but  I  need  not  tell  you  so  :  it  Is  written  on  your  face  plain 
as  the  way  betwen  Peronne  and  St.  Quintin,  —  a  good, 
honest  way  as  ever  was  trod  by  shoe  leather,  ami  as  old 
as  Chinon  in  Touraine  !  Try  it  soon,  my  boy.  (Quebec  is  a 
sack  full  of  pearls !  "  Hortense  pulled  him  mischievouslv 
by  the  coat,  so  he  caught  her  hand  and  held  it  fast  in  his, 
while  he  proceeded :  *'  Vou  put  your  hand  in  the  sack  and 
take  out  the  first  that  offers.  It  will  be  worth  a  Je\v"s 
ransom  !  If  you  are  lucky  to  find  the  fairest,  trust  nie  it  will 
be  the  identical  pearl  of  great  price  for  which  the  merchant 
went  and  sold  all  that  he  had  and  bought  it.  Is  not  that 
Gospel,  Father  de  Berey  ?  1  think  I  have  heard  soniethins,' 
like  that  preached  from  the  pulpit  of  the  Recollets .'' " 

"  Matter  of  brimborion.  Chevalier  !  not  to  be  questioned 
by  laymen  !  Words  of  wisdom  for  my  poor  brothers  of  St, 
Francis,  who,  after  renouncing  the  world,  like  to  know  that 
they  have  renounced  something  worth  having !  Bui  not  to 
preach  a  sermon  on  your  parable.  Chevalier,  1  will  jDromise 
Colonel  Philibert  that  when  he  has  found  the  pearl  of  great 
price,"  —  Father  de  Berey,  who  knew  a  world  of  secrets. 
glanced  archly  at  Amelie  as  he  said  this,  — "  the  bells  of 
our  monastery  shall  ring  out  sur'i  a  merry  peal  as  the}  have 
not  rung  since  fat  Brother  Le  Ciros  broke  his  wind,  and  short 
Brother  Bref  stretched  himself  out  half  a  yard  pulling  the 
bell  ropes  on  the  wedding  of  the  Dauphin." 

Great  merriment  followed  the  speech  of  Father  de  llercy. 
Hortense  rallied  the  Chevalier,  a  good  old  widower,  upon 
himself  not  travelling  the  ])lain  way  between  Peronne  and 
St.  (Quintin,  and  jestingly  olTered  herself  to  travel  with  him, 
like  a  couple  of  gypsies  carrying  their  budget  of  h;ipi)ines< 
pick-a-back  through  the  world. 

"  Better  than  that  1  "  La  Corne  exclaimed.  Hortense  was 
worthy  to  ride  on  the  baggage-wagons  in  his  next  campaign! 
Would    she    go  ?      She    gave    him    her    hand.     "  1    expect 


|.H'rii)us  girts  w< 


SIC    ITUR    AD    ASTRA. 


235 


I  nothing  else  ! "  said  she.  "I  am  a  soldier's  daughter,  and 
expect  to  live  a  soldier's  wife,  and  die  a  soldier's  widow. 
But  a  truce  to  jest.     It  is  harder  to  be  witty  than  wise,"  con- 

itinued  she.  "  What  is  the  matter  with  Cousin  Le  Gardeur  ?  " 
Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  as  he  read  a  note  just  handed 

I  to  him  by  a  servant.  He  crushed  it  in  his  hand  with  a  flash 
01  anger,  and  made  a  motion  as  if  about  to  tear  it,  but  did 
not.    He  placed  it  in  his  bosom.     But  the  hilarity  of  his 

[countenance  was  gone. 

There  was  another  person  at  the  table  whose  quick  eye, 

I  drawn  by  sisterly   affection,   saw   Le  Gardeur's    movement 

before  even  Hortense.     Amelie  was  impatient  to  leave  her 

seal  and  go  beside  him,  but  she  could  not  at  the  moment 

leave  the  lively  circle  around  her.     She  at  once  conjectured 

iiat  the  note    was    from    Angelique    des   Meloises.     After 

[drinking  deeply  two  or  three  times  Le  Gardeur  arose,  and 
with  a  faint  excuse  that  did  not  impose  on  his  partner  left 
the  table.  Amelie  rose  quickly  also,  excusing  herself  to  the 
llourgeois,  and  joined  her  brother  in  the  park,  where  the 

Icool  night  air  blew  fresh  and  inviting  for  a  walk. 

Pretty  Cecile  Touraugeau  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 

Ih.indwriting  as   she    sat   by  the   side   of    Le  Gardeur,   and 

buessed  correctly  whence  it  had  come  and  why  her  partner 

|so  suddenly  left  the  table. 

She  was  out  of  humor ;  the  red  mark  upon  her  forehead 

[grew  redder  as  she  pouted  in  visible  discontent.      Hut  the 
reat  world  moves  on,  carrying  alternate  storms  and  sunshine 

lupon  its  surface.     The  company  rose  from  the  table  —  some 

Ito  the  ball-room,    some    to   the    park    and    conservatories. 

jCecile's  was  a  happy  disposition,  easily  consoled  for  her 
sorrows.  l\very  trace  of  her  displeasure  was  banished  and 
almost  forgotten  from  the  moment  the  gay,  handsome 
Jumonville  de  Villiers  invited  her  out  to  the  grand  balcony, 

Iwlicre,  he  said,  tiie  rarest  pastime  was  going  on. 

And  rare  pastime  it  was!     A  grouj)  of  laughing  but  half- 

Iserioiis  girls  were  gathered  round    Doctor  Gauthier,  urging 
111  to  tell   ijieir  fortunes  by  consulting   the   stars,  which 

ItHiight  shone  out  with  unusual  brilliancy. 

At  that  period,  as  at  the  present,  and  in  every  age  of  the 
hvorld,  the  female  sex,  like  the  Jews  of  old,  asks  signs,  while 
|tlie  (hceks     -  that  is,  the  men  —  seek  wisdom. 


236 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


■'r » 


The  time  never  was,  and  never  will  be,  when  a  woman  will 
cease  to  be  curious,  —  when  her  imagination  will  not  forecast 
the  decrees  of  fate  in  regard  to  the  culminating  event  of  her 
life  and  her  whole  nature  — marriage.  It  was  in  vain  Doctor 
Oauthier  protested  his  inability  to  read  the  stars  without  his 
celestial  eye-glasses. 

The  ladies  would  not  accept  his  excuses  :  he  knew  the 
heavens  by  heart,  they  said,  and  could  read  the  stars  of 
destiny  as  easily  as  the  Hishop  his  breviary. 

In  truth  the  w^rtli)  doctor  was  not  only  a  believer  but  an 
adept  in  astrology.  He  had  favoied  his  friends  with  not  a 
few  horoscopes  and  nativities,  when  pressed  to  do  so.  His 
good  nature  was  of  the  substance  of  butter :  any  one  that 
liked  could  spread  it  over  their  bread.  Many  good  men  are 
eaten  up  in  that  way  by  greedy  friends. 

Hortense  de  Jieauharnais  i;rged  the  Doctor  so  merrily  and 
so  perseveringly,  promising  to  marry  him  herself  if  the  stars 
said  so,  that  he  laughingly  gave  way,  but  declared  he  would 
tell  Hortense's  fortune  first,  which  deserved  to  be  good 
enough  to  make  her  fulfil  her  promise  just  made. 

She  was  resigned,  she  said,  and  would  accept  any  fate 
from  the  rank  of  a  queen  to  a  cell  among  the  old  maids  of 
St.  Cyr !  The  girls  of  Quebec  hung  all  their  hopes  on  the 
stars,  bright  and  particular  ones  especially.  They  were  loo 
loving  to  live  single,  and  too  proud  to  live  poor.  l)Ut  she 
was  one  who  would  not  wait  for  ships  to  land  that  never 
came,  and  plums  to  drop  into  her  mouth  that  never  ripened. 
Ilorten-se  would  be  ruled  by  the  stars,  and  wise  Doctor 
Gauthier  should  to-night  declare  her  fate. 

They  all  laughed  at  this  free  talk  of  Hortense.  Not  a  few 
of  the  ladies  shrugged  thcir  s'->oulders  ^nd  looked  ask. .nee at 
each  other,  but  n.any  present  wished  they  had  joinao;e  to 
speak  like  her  to  Doctor  Gauthier. 

"  Well,  I  see  there  is  nothing  else  for  it  but  to  submit  toim 
ruling  star,  and  that  is  you,  Hortens^  .  cried  the  I  )oclc>r ;  "so 
please  stand  up  l)eforc;  me  while  I  take  an  inventory  of  your 
looks  as  a  preliminary  to  telling  your  fortune," 

Ilortenst^  placed  herself  instantly  before  him.  "  It  h'  one 
of  the  privileges  of  our  d'y  study,"  remarked  he,  as  he 
looked  admiringly  on  the  tall,  charming  figure  and  frank 
countenance  of  the  ijirl  before  him. 


SIC    ITUR    AD    ASTRA. 


^17 


"The  querent,"  said  he  gravely,  "is  tall,  straight,  slender, 
arms  long,  hands  and  feet  of  the  smallest,  hair  just  short 
of  blackness,  piercing,  roving  eyes,  dark  as  night  and  full 
of  tire,  sight  quick,  and  temperanietit  alive  with  energy,  wit, 
and  sense." 

'•Oh,  tell  my  fortune,  not  my  character!  I  shall  shamtj  of 
i-ncrgy,  wit,  and  sense,  if  I  hear  such  Hattery,  Doctor!" 
exclaimed  she,  shaking  herself  like  a  young  eagle  preparing 

to  riy. 

"We  shall  see  what  comes  of  it,  Hortense !  "  replied  he 
;:ravely,  as  with  his  gold-headed  cane  he  slowly  quartered 
the  heavens  like  an  ancient  augur,  and  noted  the  planets 
in  their  houses.  The  doctor  was  quite  serious,  and  even 
Hortense,  catching  his  looks,  stood  very  silent  as  he  studied 
the  celestial  aspects, 

"  Carrying  through  ether  in  peqjetual  round 
Decrees  and  resolutions  of  the  Gods." 

"The  Lord  of  the  ascendant,"  said  he,  "is  with  the  Lord 
of  the  seventh  in  the  tenth  house.  The  querent,  therefore, 
shall  marry  the  man  made  for  her,  but  not  the  man  of  her 
youthful  hope  and  her  first  love. 

''The  stars  are  true,"  continued  he,  speaking  to  himself 
rather  than  to  her.  "  Jupiter  in  the  seventh  house  denotes 
rank  and  dignity  by  marriage,  and  Mars  in  sextile  foretells 
successful  wars.  It  is  wonderful,  Hortense !  The  blood 
jot  Heauharnais  shall  sit  on  thrones  more  than  one;  it  shall 
rule  France,  Italy,  and  Flanders,  but  not  New  France,  for 
Saturn  in  quintile  looks  darkly  upon  the  twins  who  rule 
An^evica !  " 

"Come,  Jumonville,"  exclaimed  Hortense,  "congratulate 

jilaudeon  the  greatness  awaiting  the  house  of  Beauharnais, 

Mind  condole  with  me  that  I  am  to  see  none  of  it  myself!     I 

do  not  care  for  kings  and  queens  in  the  third  generation, 

but  I  Jo  care  for  happy  fortune  in  the   present  for  those 

know  and  love  !  Come,  Jumonville,  have  your  fortune 
[told  now,  to  keep  me  in  countenance.  If  the  Doctor  hits 
|the  truth  for  you  I  shall  believe  in  him  for  myself." 

"That  is  a  good  idea,  Hortense,"  replied  Jumonville; 
I  "I  lonfj  ago  himg  my  hat  on  the  stars  —  let  the  Doctor  try 
if  he  can  find  it." 


238 


TflE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


c  young 


lie    would 


The  Doctor,  in  great  good  humor,  surveyed  the  dark 
handsome  face  and  lithe,  athletic  figure  of  Juinonville  de 
Villiers.  He  again  raised  his  cane  with  the  gravity  of  a 
Roman  pontifex,  marking  off  his  fcmp/iini  in  the  heaven^ 
Suddenly  he  stopped.  He  repeated  more  carefullv  hi, 
survey,  and  then  turned  his  earnest  eyes  upon  th 
soldier. 

"  You  see  ill-fortune  for  me,  Doctor !  " 
Jumonville,  with  bright,  unflinching  eyes,  as 
look  on  danger  of  any  kind. 

"  Tiie  Hyleg,  or  giver  of  life,  is  afflicted  by  Mars  in  tlit 
eighth  house,  and  Saturn  is  in  evil  aspect  in  the  ascendant  1' 
said  the  Doctor  slowly, 

"  That  sounds  warlike,  and  means  fighting  I  suppose, 
Doctor.  It  is  a  brave  fortune  for  a  soldier,  do  on!' 
Jumonville  was  in  earnest  now. 

'■'■The. piifs fortitfia;^^  continued  the  Doctor,  gazing  upward, 
"rejoices  in  a  benign  aspect  with  Venus.  I'anie,  true  Iwc, 
and  immortality  will  be  yours,  Jumonville  de  Villiers;  ln;t 
you  will  die  young  under  the  Hag  of  your  country  and  for 
sake  of  your  King !  You  will  not  marry,  but  all  the  maids 
and  matrons  of  New  France  will  lament  your  fate  with  tear\ 
and  from  your  death  shall  spring  up  the  salvation  of  your 
native  land  —  how,  I  see  not;  but  dccrctiim  est,  ]\n\\o\\\\\V, 
ask  me  no  more  !  " 

A  thrill  like  a  stream  of  electricity  passed  through  the 
company.  Their  mirth  was  extinguished,  for  none  coulJ 
wholly  free  their  minds  from  the  superstition  of  their 
age.  The  good  Doctor  sat  down,  and  wiped  his  moistened 
eye-glasses.  He  would  tell  no  more  to-night,  he  said 
He  had  really  gone  too  far,  making  jest  of  earnest  and 
earnest  of  jest,  and  begged  pardon  of  Jumonville  for  com- 
plying with  his  humor. 

The  young  soldier  laughed  merrily.  "  If  fame,  immor- 
tality, and  true  love  are  to  be  mine,  what  care  I  for  death? 
It  will  be  worth  giving  up  life  for,  to  have  the  tears  ofj 
the  maids  and  matrons  of  New  France  to  lament  your 
fate.     What  could  the  most  ambitious  soldier  desire  niorci'"j 

The  words  of  Jumonville  struck  a  kindred  chord  in  tlie 
bosom  of  Hortense  de  lleauharnais.  They  were  stamped 
upon  her  heart  forever.     A  few  years  after  this  prediction. 


SIC    ITUK    AD    ASTKA. 


239 


lumonville  de  Villiers  lay  slain  under  a  flag  of  truce  on 
the  bank  of  the  Monongahela,  and  of  all  the  maids  and 
matrons  of  New  France  who  wept  over  his  fate,  none 
>hed  more  and  bitterer  tears  than  his  fair  betrothed  bride, 
Hortense  de  Beauharnais. 

The  prediction  of  the  Sieur  Gauthier  was  repeated  and 
retold  as  a  strangely  true  tale ;  it  passed  into  the  traditions 
of  the  people,  and  lingered  in  their  memory  generations 
after  the  festival  of  lielmont  was  utterly  forgotten. 

When  the  great  revolt  took  place  in  the  Knglish  Colonies, 
ihe  death  of  the  gallant  Jumonville  de  Villiers  was  neither 
forgotten  nor  forgiven  by  New  France.  Congress  appealed 
in  vain  for  union  and  help  from  Canadians.  Washington's 
prochunations  were  trodden  under  foot,  and  his  troops 
driven  back  or  captured.  If  Canada  was  lost  to  France 
partly  through  the  death  of  Jumonville,  it  may  also  be  said 
that  his  blood  helped  to  save  it  to  b'.ngland.  The  ways 
of  Providence  are  so  mysterious  in  working  out  the 
prohlenis  of  national  existence  that  the  life  or  death  of  a 
:5ingle  individual  may  turn  the  scales  of  destiny  over  half 
a  continent. 

But  all  these  events  lay  as  yet  darkly  in  the  womb  of 
the  future.  The  gallant  Jumonville  who  fell,  and  his 
brother  Coulon  who  took  his  "  noble  revenge "  upon 
Washington  by  sparing  his  life,  were  to-day  the  gayest  of 
ilie  gay  throng  who  had  assembled  to  do  honor  to  Pierre 
:'hiliberl. 

While  this  group  of  merry  guests,  half  in  jest,  half  in 

karncst.  were  trying  to  discover  in  the  stars  the  "far-reaching 

concords  ■'  that  moulded   the  life  of   each,   Amelie  led   her 

brother  away  from  the  busy  grounds  near  the  mansion,  and 

took  a  (juiet  path  that  led  into  the  great  park  which  they 

lnuered. 

A  cool   salt-water    breeze,  following   the    flood   tide  that 

[was  coming  up  the  broad  vSt.  Lawrence,  swept  their  faces  as 

Amelie  walked  by  the  side  of  T.e  Gardcur,  talking  in  her 

quiet  way  of   things   familiar,  and  of   home    interests   until 

»she  saw  the    fever   of    his   blood   abate   and    his    thoughts 

vuirn  into  calmer  channels,     ller  gentle  craft  subdued  his 

|ini])etuous  mood— if   craft  it  might  be   called  —  for  more 

isely  cunning  than  all  craft  is  the  prompting  of  true  affec- 


240 


THE    (iOLDEN    DOG. 


tion,  where   reason   responds  like  instinct   to  the  wants  of 
the  heart. 

They  sat  down  upon  a  garden  seat  overlookinj^f  the 
great  valley.  None  of  the  guests  had  sauntered  out  so  far, 
but  Amelie's  heart  was  full ;  she  had  much  to  say,  and 
wished  no  interruption. 

"  I  am  glad  to  sit  in  this  pretty  spot,  Ame'lie,"  said  he, 
at  last,  for  he  had  listened  in  silence  to  the  sweet,  lf)\v  voic, 
of  his  sister  as  she  kept  up  her  half  sad,  half  ghul  monn- 
logue,  because  she  saw  it  pleased  him.  It  broui^ht  him 
into  a  mood  in  which  she  might  venture  to  talk  of  the 
matter  that  pressed  sorely  upon  her  heart. 

"*A  little  while  ago,  I  feared  I  might  offend  you.  I,c 
Gardeur,"  said  she,  taking  his  hand  tenderly  in  hers,  "it  I 
spoke  all  I  wished  I  never  did  ol'tend  you  that  I  reiiitin- 
ber,  brother,  did  I  ?  " 

"  Never,  my  incomparable  sister ;  you  never  did.  and 
never  could.  Say  what  you  will,  ask  me  what  you  like;  l)ut 
I  fear  I  am  unworthy  of  your  affection,  sister." 

"  You  are  not  unworthy ;  (iod  gave  you  as  my  only 
brother,  you  will  never  be  unworthy  in  my  eyes.  I!ui  it 
touches  me  to  the  quick  to  suspect  others  may  think  lightly 
of  you,  Le  Gardeur." 

He  flinched,  for  his  pride  was  touched,  but  ho  knew 
Amelie  was  right.  ''It  was  weakness  in  me,"  said  he,  "I 
confess  it,  sister.  To  pour  wine  upon  my  vexation  in  hope  I 
to  cure  it,  is  to  feed  a  fire  with  oil.  To  throw  tire  into  a 
powder  magazine  were  wisdom  compared  with  my  folly, 
Amelie  :  I  was  angry  at  the  message  I  got  at  such  a  time,  | 
Angelique  des  Meloises  has  no  mercy  upon  her  lovers '" 

"  Oh,  my  prophetic  heart !  I  thought  as  much  !  It  was 
Ange'lique,  then,  sent  you  the  letter  you  read  at  table.'"" 

"Yes,  who  else  could  have  moved  me  so?  The  time\va>| 
ill-chosen,  but  I  suspect,  hating  the  Bourgeois  as  she  does, 
Angelique  intended  to  call  me  from  Pierre's  fete.  I  shall 
obey  her  now,  but  to-night  she  shall  obey  me,  decide  to  make 
or  mar  me,  one  way  or  other  I  You  may  read  the  letter, 
Amelie,  if  you  will." 

"I  care  not  to  read  it,  brother;  I  know  Angcli'iue  tool 
well  not  to  fear  her  influence  over  you.  Her  crafl  and  boldl 
ness  were  always  a  terror  to  her  companions.      lUit  you  wi 


SrC    ITUR    AD    ASTRA. 


241 


ncl    you,  If 

hers.  "  if  1 

lat  1  remcin- 

er   did  and 

1 

not  leave  Pierre's  fete  to-night  ?  "  added  she,  half  iiiiploring- 
Iv;  for  she  felt  keenly  the  discourtesy  to  Pierre  I'hilibert. 

'•  I  must  do  even  that,  sister !  Were  Angclique  as 
faulty  as  she  is  fair,  I  should  only  love  her  the  more  for 
her  faults,  and  make  them  my  own.  Were  she  to  come  to 
me  like  Herodias  with  the  liaptist's  head  in  a  charger,  I 
should  outdo  Herod  in   keeping  my  pledge  to  her." 

Amclie  uttered  a  low,  moaning  cry.  "  O  my  dear 
infaiuated  brother,  it  is  not  in  nature  for  a  De  Repen- 
ii^ny  to  love  irrationally  like  that!  What  maddening 
philtre  have  you  drank,  to  intoxicate  you  with  a  woman 
who  uses  you  so  imperiously  ?  Hut  you  will  not  go,  Le 
(iardeur!"  added  she,  clinging  to  his  arm.  "You  are  safe 
so  long  as  you  are  with  your  sister,  —  you  will  be  safe  no 
longer  if  you  go  to  the  Maison  des  Meloises  to-night !  " 

••(jO  I  must  and  shall,  Amelie  !  I  have  drank  the  mad- 
dening philtre, —  I  know  that,  Amelie,  and  would  not  take 
an  antidote  if  I  had  one  !  The  world  has  no  antidote  to 
cure  nie.  I  have  no  wish  to  be  cured  of  love  for  Angelique, 
and  in  ime  I  cannot  be,  .so  let  me  go  and  receive  the  rod 
for  coming  to  Belmont  and  the  reward  for  leaving  it  at  her 
summons ! "  He  affected  a  tone  of  levity,  but  Amelie's 
car  easily  detected  the  false  ring  of  it. 

"Dearest  brother!"  said  she,  "are  you  sure  Angelique 
returns,  or  is  capable  of  returning,  love  like  yours  .''  She  is 
like  the  rest  of  us,  weak  and  fickle,  merely  human,  and  not 
at  all  the  divinity  a  man  in  his  fancy  worships  when  in 
love  with  a  woman."  It  was  in  vain,  however,  for  Ame'lie 
to  try  to  persuade  her  brother  of  that. 

"  What  care  I,  Amelie,  so  long  as  Angelique  is  not 
weak  and  fickle  to  me?"  answered  he;  "but  she  will  think 
iier  tardy  lover  is  both  weak  and  fickle  unless  1  put  in  a 
speedy  appearance  at  the  Maison  des  Meloises  !  "  He 
rose  up  as  if  to  depart,  still  holding  his  sister  by  the  hand. 

Amelie's  tears  tiowed  silently  in  the  darkness.  She 
was  not  willing  to  plant  a  seed  of  distrust  in  the  bosom  of 

er  brother,  yet  she  remembered  bitterly  and  indignantly 
jVhai  Angelique  L:;d  said  of  her  intentions  towards  the 
Intendant.     Was  she  using  T.e  (iardeur  as  a  foil  to  set  off 

er  attractions  in  the  eyes  of  Bigot  ? 

"  Brother  ! "  said  Amelie,  "  I  am  a  woman,  and  compre- 


242 


TIIF.    (iOLDKN    nOG. 


hend  my  sex  better  than  yovi.  I  know  Angelique's  far- 
reaching  ambition  and  crafty  ways.  Are  you  sure,  not  in 
outward  persuasion  but  in  inward  conviction,  tiiai  she 
loves  you  as  a  woman  should  love  the  man  she  means  to 
marry  ?  " 

Le  Gardeur  felt  her  words  like  a  silver  prol)e  that 
searched  his  heart.  With  all  his  unbounded  devotion,  he 
knew  Ange'lique  too  well  not  to  feel  a  pang  of  disiribt 
sometimes,  as  she  showered  her  coquetries  upon  every  side 
of  her.  It  was  the  overabundance  of  her  love,  lie  said, 
but  he  thought  it  often  fell  like  the  dew  round  (ndcdiu 
fleece,  refreshing  all  tlie  earth  about  it,  but  leavin;;  the 
lleece  dry.  "  Amelie  1  "  said  he,  "  you  try  me  hanl.  and 
tempt  me  too,  my  sister,  but  it  is  useless.  .vngcli(|ue  mav 
be  false  as  Cressida  to  other  men,  she  will  not  be  false  to 
me  !  She  has  sworn  it,  with  her  hand  in  mine,  before  the 
altar  of  Notre  Dame.  I  would  go  down  to  perdition  with 
her  in  my  arms  rather  than  be  a  crowned  king  with  ;i!l  the 
world  of  women  to  choose  from  and  not  get  her." 

Amelie  shuddered  at  his  vehemence,  but  she  knew  iiow 
useless  was  expostulation.  She  wisely  refrained,  deeiiiinf; 
it  her  duty,  like  a  good  sister,  to  make  the  best  of  what 
she  could  not  hinder.  Some  jasmines  overhung  the  seat: 
she  plucked  a  handful,  and  gave  them  to  him  as  they  rose 
to  return  to  the  house. 

"Take  them  with  you,  Le  Gardeur,"  said  she,  giving  him 
the  flowers,  which  she  tied  into  a  wreath ;  "  they  will 
remind  Angelique  that  she  has  a  powerful  rival  in  your 
sister's  love." 

He    took    them    as    they  walked    slowly    back.     "  Would  I 
:he  were  like  you,  Amelie,  in  all  things  1  "  said  he.     "  I  wi 
put  some  of  j'our  Howers  in  her  hair  to-night  for  your  sake,  I 
sister." 

"And   for    her    own!       Mav    thev    be    for    you    both  ;in| 
augury    of    good!      Mind    and    return    home,    Le    (lardeur, 
after   your  visit.     I    shall    sit   up   to  await   your  arrival,  toj 
ccngratulate   you;"  and,   after  a  jjause,   she  added,  "or  tnj 
console  you,  brother  !  " 

"  ( )h,  no  fear,  sister  1  "  rejilied  he,  cheeringly.  "  \iip'li(|iiej 
is  true  as  steel  to  iiic.  You  shall  call  her  my  bet  n  it  lied  U>J 
morrow  1     Good-by  1     And  now   go  dance  with  all  dclij; 


SIC    ITl'K    AH    ASTRA. 


243 


ique's  far- 
ire,  not  in 

that  she 

means  to 

iroV)e  that 
ivotion,  he 
of    distrust 

every  side 
e,  he  said, 
(1  (licU'on'M 
leavinii;  the 
;  hard,  and 
^eUciue  may 

he  false  to 
,  before  the 
rdition  with 
with  all  the 

e  knew  liow 
ed,  deeming 
)est  of  what 
11^-  the  seat; 
as  they  rox 

;,  *2;iving  him 
"■they  will 
lival   in  your 

:k.     ''  ^Voukl ! 

lie.     •'  1  \\i 
hr  your  sake.  | 

you     l)()th    All 

jur  arrival,  to] 
Idded.  '•orU'l 

'>  \n<ii'liiiii«l 
Jbelrolli^'tl  ^^M 
llh  all  (loli;:l 


till   morning."     He    kissed   her  and  d'jparted  for  the  city, 
leaving  her    in  the  ball-room   by  the  side  of   the  Lady  de 

Tilly. 

.Vnu^lie  related  to  her  aunt  the  result  of  her  conversa- 
tion with  Le  Gardeur,  and  the  cause  of  his  leaving  the  fete 
so  ahruptly.  The  Lady  de  Tilly  listened  with  surprise 
and  distress.  "To  think,"  said  she,  "of  Le  Gardeur  ask- 
ins;  that  terrible  girl  to  marry  him  !  My  only  hope  is,  she 
will  refuse  liim.     And  if  it  be  as  I  hear,  I  think  she  will  !  " 

"It  would  be  the  ruin  of  Le  Gardeur  if  she  did,  aunt! 
Vou  cannot  think  how  determined  he  is  on  this  marriage." 

■•  It  would  be  his  ruin  if  she  accepted  him  !  "  replied 
the  bady  (le  Tilly.  "With  any  other  woman  Le  Gardeur 
mi;dit  have  a  fair  chance  of  happiness;  but  none  with  her! 
Mure  than  one  of  her  lovers  lies  in  a  bloody  grave  by 
reason  oi  her  coquetries.  She  has  ruined  every  man  whom 
she  has  flattered  into  loving  her.  She  is  without  affection. 
Her  thoughts  are  covers  I  with  a  veil  of  deceit  impene- 
trable. She  would  sacrifue  the  whole  world  to  her  vanity. 
I  fear,  Amelie,  she  will  sacrifice  Le  Gardeur  as  ruthlessly 
as  the  most  worthles.s  of  her  admirers." 

•We  can  only  hope  for  the  best,  aunt;  and  I  do  think 
Anneli(|ue  loves  T,e  Gardeur  as  she  never  loved  any  other." 
They  were  presently  rejoined  by  Pierre  Philibert.  'I'he 
Lady  de  'IMlly  and  Ame'lie  ajiologized  for  Le  (iardeur's 
departure.  he  had  been  compelled  to  go  to  the  city  on 
an  affair  of  urgency,  and  had  left  them  to  make  his  excuses. 
i'ierre  I'hilibert  was  not  without  a  shrewd  perception  of  the 
i  state  of  affair.^.  He  pitied  Le  Gardeiu",  and  excused  him, 
j speaking;  most  kindly  of  him  in  a  way  that  touched  the 
lieart  of  .\melie.  The  ball  went  on  with  unflagging  spirit 
laml  enjoyment.  The  old  walls  fairly  vibrated  with  the 
hiuiNic   and  dancing  of  the  gay  company. 

The  nnisic,   like    tlie  tide  in    the   great    river    that  night, 
jrciched  its  tlood    only    after    the    small    hours    had    .set  in. 

Anu'lii'  had  given  her  h;\nd  to  Pierre  for  one  or  two  dances, 

and  many  a  friendly,  many  a  half  envious  guess  was  made  as 

to  the  prohable  (Jhatelaine  of  Belmont. 


!J 


CHAPTER    XXII. 


so    GLOZED    THE    TEMPTER. 


THE  lamps  burned  brightly  in  the  boudoir  of  AniLjcIiqut: 
des  Meloises  o'-.  tiie  ni.i:;ht  of  the  fete  of  Pierre  I'hilibcit, 
Masses  of  fresh  flowers  iilled  the  anti(|ue  Sevres  vases,  smi! 
ing  delicious  odors  through  the  apartment,  which  was  iui 
nished  in  a  style  of  almost  ro}'al  splendor.  l!|)oii  tin 
white  hearth  a  few  billets  of  wood  bhized  cheerfully,  for, 
after  a  hot  day,  as  wms  not  uncommon  in  New  l^'raiiLc,  a 
cool  salt-water  breeze  came  up  the  great  river,  hiinj^iii;' 
reminders  of  cold  sea-washed  rocks  and  snowy  crcvicvs 
still  lingering  upon  the  mountainous  shores  of  the  Si 
Lawrence. 

Angc'lique  sat    idly    watching    the    wreaths  of   smoke  ,b 
they  rose    in   shapes    fantastic    as    her    own    thouglus. 

Jly  that  subtle  instinct  which  is  a  si.xth  sense  in  woni.i:, 
she  knew  that  Le  Gardcur  de  Repentigny  would  visit  Iki 
to-night  and  renew  his  offer  of  marriage.  She  incdii; 
to  retain  his  love  and  evade  his  proposals,  and  she  never  Icrj 
a  moment  doubted  her  ability  to  accomplish  her  ends,  .Ml'1i'> 
hearts  had  hitherto  been  but  potter's  clay  in  her  hands.  ;in'i 
she  had  no  misgivings  now;  but  she  felt  that  the  love  of  I.c 
(lardeur  was  a  thing  she  could  not  tread  on  without  .1  shdcki 
to  herself  like  the  counter-stroke  of  a  torpedo  to  the  iiakd| 
foot  of  an  Indian  alio  rashly  steps  upon  it  as  it  hasks  in 
sunny  pool. 


She    was    agitated    l)e)'onil    her    wont,    for  siic 


!o\e(l  l.t 


(lardeur  with  a  strange.  seKish  passion,  for  her  dun  saL 
not  for  his,  a  sort  of  love  not  imcommon  with  either  sonI 
Siie  had  the  frankness  to  be  half  ashamed  of  it.  for  sliej 
knew  the  wrong  she  was  doing  to  one  of  the  most  nublej 
and  faithful  hearts  in  the  world.  Ihit  the  arrival  of  tiie| 
Intendant  had  unsettled  every  good  resolution  sIh'  I 
once    made   to  marry  Le    (lardeur  de    Repentigny  and 

J44 


so    GLOZED    THE    TEMPTER. 


245 


come  a  reputable  matron  in  society.  Her  ambitious  fan- 
tasies (liinnied  e^ery  perception  of  duty  to  her  own  heart 
IS  well  as  his ;  and  she  had  worked  herself  into  that  unen- 
viable frame  of  mind  which  possesses  a  woman  who  cannot 
resolve  either  to  consent  or  deny,  to  accept  her  lover  or  to 
let  hiin  go. 

The  solitude  of  her  apartment  became  insupportable  to 
her.  She  sprang  up,  opened  the  window,  and  sat  down  in 
the  balcony  outside,  trying  to  find  composure  by  looking 
duwn  into  the  dark,  still  street.  The  voices  of  two  men 
iniiajj;fcl  in  eagc  '  conversation  reached  her  ear.  They  sat 
upon  ibc  broad  steps  of  the  house,  so  that  every  word  they 
spoke  reached  her  ear,  although  she  could  scarcely  distin- 
i;uish  Ibcm  in  the  darkness.  These  were  no  other  than  Max 
Crimcau  uul  Hlind  Hartemy,  the  brace  of  beggars  whose 
post  was  at  the  gate  of  the  Jiasse  Ville.  They  seemed  to 
he  comparing  the  amount  (jf  alms  each  had  receivetl  during 
the  day,  and  were  arranging  for  a  supper  at  some  obscure 
haunt  ihey  frec|uented  in  the  purlieus  of  the  lower  town, 
when  another  figure  came  up,  short,  dapper,  and  carrying 
a  knapsack,  as  Angel ique  could  detect  by  the  glimmer  of  a 
lantern  that  hung  on  a  rojDc  stretched  across  the  street.  He 
was  ^Meeted  warmly  by  the  old  mendicants. 

"Sure  as  my  old  musket  it  is  Master  Pothier,  and  no- 
body else ! "  exclaimed  Max  Grimeau  rising,  and  giving 
the  newcomer  a  hearty  embrace.  "Don't  you  see,  15ar- 
lemy  ?  He  has  been  foraging  among  the  fat  wives  of 
the  south  shore.  What  a  cheek  he  blows  red  as  a  peony, 
and  fat  as  a  Dutch  iJurgomaster  !  "  Max  had  seen  plenty 
III  the  world  when  he  marched  under  Marshal  de  IJelle- 
isle.  so  he  was  at  no  loss  for  apt  comparisons. 

"  Ves ! "  replied  IJlind  Dartemy,  holding  out  his  hand  to 
be  shaken.  "1  see  l)y  your  voice,  Master  Polhier,  tiuit  you 
li.uo  not  said  grace  over  bare  bones  during  y-oiu"  absence. 
Hut  where  have  you  been  this  long  time?" 

"Oh,  lleecing  the  King's  sul)jects  to  the  best  of  my  poor 
'ii>ilily  in  the  law!  and  without  half  the  success  of  you  and 
Max  here,  who  toll  tiie  gate  of  the  i5asse  Ville  more  easily 
'ban  the  intendant  gets  in  the  King's  taxes!" 

'\\li\  not?"  replied  i5artemy,  with  a  pious  twist  of  his 
i><-'t.k,  ami  an   upward  cast  of  his  blank  orbs.     "It   is  pour 


246 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


r  amour  ik  Dien !  We  beggars  save  more  souls  than  the 
Cure' ;  for  we  are  always  exhorting  men  to  charity.  1  ihink 
we  ought  to  be  part  of  Holy  Church  as  well  as  thu  {",iav 
Friars." 

"And  so  we  are  part  of  Holy  Church,  IJartemy  1 ""  inter- 
rupted Max  Crimean.  "  When  the  good  15ishop  \v.islu;d 
twelve  pair  of  our  dirty  feet  on  Maunday  Thursday  in  lii- 
Cathedral,  1  felt  like  an  Apostle  1  did  !  My  feci  wcii- 
just  ready  for  benediction;  for  see!  they  had  never  bcLn 
washed,  that  I  remember  of,  since  1  marched  to  the  lulici  01 
Prague  !  IJut  you  should  ha\e  been  out  to  Helm.jiit  lo-dav, 
Master  Pothier  !  There  was  the  grandest  i.abter  pic  ever 
made  in  New  France !  You  might  have  carried  on  a  lav> 
suit  inside  of  it,  and  lived  off  tiie  estate  for  a  year  -  1  ale  a 
bushel  of  it.     I  did  !  " 

"  Oh,  the  cursed  luck  is  every  day  mine  !  ''  replied  Ma  u.r 
Pothier,  clapping  his  hands  upon  his  stomach.  "  1  wouiu 
not  have  missed  that  Easter  pie — no,  not  to  draw  liic 
Pope's  will  !  But,  as  it  is  laid  clown  in  the  Cout!i))ic  I  Or- 
/eans  (Yxi.  17),  the  absent  lose  the  usufruct  of  their  rights; 
7'iiL;  also,  Pothier  dcs  Sticccssions  —  I  lost  my  shaic  of  ihe 
pie  of  Pelmont !  " 

"Well,  never  mind.  Master  Pothier,"  replied  ATnx.  "  Don'- 
gricN'e ;  you  shall  go  with  us  to-night  to  the  Meur-dc-bi^,  111 
the  Sault  au  Matelot.  Partemy  and  1  have  besj)okcn  an 
eel  pie  and  a  gallon  of  hunnning  cider  of  Normandy.  W'l' 
shall  all  be  jolly  as  the  niarij^n///icrs  of  Ste.  Roche,  after 
tithing  the  parish  !  " 

"  Have  with  you,  then  !  I  am  free  now  :  I  have  just  de 
livered  a  letter  to  the  Intendant  from  a  lady  at  Peaunianiiii. 
and  got  a  crown  for  it.  1  will  lay  it  on  top  of  your  eel  pie, 
Max  !  " 

Angeliciue,  from  being  simply  amused  at  the  con\ers.iliuii 
of  the  old  beggars,  became  in  an  instant  all  eyes  and  car- 
at the  words  of  Master  Pothier. 

"  Had  you  ever  the  fortune  to  see  that  lady  at  lieauma 
noir  ? "  asked  Max,  with  more  curiosity  than  was  to  1h' 
expected  of  one  in  his  jjosition. 

"No;  the  letter  was  handed  me  bv  Dame  Trenihlav.  wiih 
a  cup  of  wine.  lint  Ihe  Intendant  gave  me  a  crown  when 
he  read    it.      I    never    saw    the    Che\alier    I'igot    in    heltei 


so    GLOZED    THE    TEMPTER. 


247 


humor!  That  letter  touched  both  his  purse  and  his  feelin<j^s. 
But  how  did  you  ever  come  to  hear  of  the  Lady  of  Beau- 
manoir  ? " 

"Oh,  IJartemy  and  I  hear  everything  at  the  gate  of  the 
Ijasse  Ville !  My  Lord  IJishop  and  Father  Glapion  of 
the  Jesuits  met  in  the  gate  one  day  and  spoke  of  her,  each 
asking  the  other  if  he  knew  who  she  was  —  when  up  rode 
the  Intendant ;  and  the  Bishop  made  free,  as  Bishops  will,  you 
know,  to  question  him  whether  he  kept  a  lady  at  the  Chateau. 

'• '  A  round  dozen  of  them,  my  Lord  Bishop !  '  replied 
Bigot,  laughing.  La !  It  takes  the  Intendant  to  talk  down 
a  liishop !  He  bade  my  Lord  not  to  trouble  himself,  the 
ladv  was  under  his  tutellc !  which  I  comprehended  as  little, 
as  little  —  " 

••As  you  do  your  Nomi)iy  Doviiiiy ! ''  replied  Pothier. 
"Don't  be  angry.  Max,  if  I  infer  that  the  Intendant  quoted 
rij,ean  (Tit.  2,  27):  'Zf  I'uteur  est  coniptablc  dc  sa  gcstiony^ 

'•I  don't  care  what  the  pigeons  have  to  say  to  it — that 
is  wiiat  the  Intendant  said  !  "  replied  Max,  hotly,  "  and  that, 
for  your  \-AyN  grimoirc,  Master  Pothier!"  Max  snapped  his 
lingers  like  the  lock  of  his  musket  at  Prague,  to  indicate 
what  he  meant  by  that ! 

"Oh,  'nicptc  /i)(/uc)is !  you  don't  understand  either  law  or 
Latin,  Max !  "  exclaimed  Pothier,  shaking  his  ragged  wig 
with  an  air  of  pity. 

"  I  understand  begging ;  and  that  is  getting  without 
cheating,  and  much  more  to  the  purpose,"  replied  Max, 
hotly.  "  Look  you.  Master  Pothier !  you  are  learned  as  three 
curates  ;  but  I  can  get  more  money  in  the  gate  of  the  i^asse 
\'ille  by  simply  standing  still  and  crying  out  J^our  /'  amour 
tie  Dim !  than  you  with  your  budget  of  law  /in^^^o-Jingo, 
running  up  and  down  the  country  until  the  dogs  eat  off  the 
cahes  of  your  legs,  as  they  say  in  the  Nivernois." 

"Weil,  never  mind  what  thev  sav  in  the  Nivernois  about 
the  eahcs  of  my  legs!  /-loii  uuj  iw  Jut  jai)tais  gras  f — a 
l^ame-cock  is  never  fat  and  that  is  Master  Pothier  (tit 
Ktihin.  [,ean  as  are  my  calves,  they  will  carry  away  as 
much  of  your  eel  pie  to-night  as  those  of  the  stoutest  carter 
in  (Quebec !  " 

"Aiul  the  pie  is  baked  by  this  time;  so  let  us  be  jog- 
^'ing!"    inlenupted    Bartemy,   rising.     "  Now  give   me  \  our 


248 


THK    GOLDEN    DOG. 


arm,  Max  !  and  with  Master  Pothier's  on  the  other  side.  I 
shall  walk  to  the  Fleur-de-Lis  straight  as  a  steeple." 

The  glorious  prospect  of  supper  made  all  three  ineny  as 
crickets  on  a  warm  hearth,  as  they  jogged  over  the  pavt- 
ment  in  their  clouted  shoes,  little  suspecting  they  h;ul  left 
a  Hame  of  anger  in  the  breast  of  Ange'licjue  des  Meloises. 
kindled  by  the  few  words  of  Pothier  respecting  the  lady  of 
Beaumanoir. 

Angelique  recalled  with  bitterness  that  the  rudtj  j)eaier 
of  the  note  had  observed  something  that  had  touched  ilic 
heart  and  opened  the  purse  of  the  Intendant.  Wliai  was 
it  ?  Was  Bigot  playing  a  game  with  Angelique  des  Me- 
loises  ?  Woe  to  him  and  the  lady  of  Beaumanoir  if  he  was! 
As  she  sat  musing  over  it  a  knock  was  heard  on  the  door 
of  her  boudoir.  She  left  the  balcony  and  reentered  her 
room,  where  a  neat,  comely  girl  in  a  servant's  dress  \va^ 
waiting  to  speak  to  her. 

The  girl  was  not  known  to  Angelique.  But  courte>vin;f 
very  low,  she  informed  her  that  she  was  Fanchon  Dodier, 
a  cousin  of  Lizetle's.  She  had  been  in  service  at  ihc 
Chateau  of  Beaumanoir,  but  had  just  left  it.  "There  is  no 
living  under  Dame  Tremblay,  "  said  she,  "if  she  susptct 
a  maid  servant  of  flirting  ever  so  little  with  M.  I'luuinois, 
the  handsome  valet  of  the  Intendant !  She  imagined  that 
1  did ;  and  such  a  life  as  she  has  led  me,  my  Lady  I  So  1 
came  to  the  city  to  ask  advice  of  cousin  Lizette,  and  seek 
a  new  place.  I  am  sure  Dame  'I'remblay  need  not  be  so 
hard  upon  the  maids.  She  is  always  boasting  of  her  own 
triumphs  when  she  was  the  Charming  Josephine." 

"And  I.i/ette  referred  you  to  me?"  asked  Angelicjue.  too 
occupied  just  now  to  mind  the  gossip  about  Dame  1  reinl)lay. 
whicli  another  time  she  would  ha\e  enjoyed  inniieii>clv. 
She  eyed  the  girl  with  intense  curiosity;  for  might  she  nui 
tell  her  something  of  the  secret  over  which  she  was  eatini,' 
her  heart  out .' 

"  Yes,  my  Lady  1  Li/ette  referred  me  to  you,  and  told  nic 
me  to  be  very  circumspect  indeed  about  what  I  said  touch- 
ing the  Intendant,  but  simjily  to  ask  if  ycni  would  take  inc 
into  your  service.  Lix.ette  need  not  have  warned  me  about 
the  Intendant ;  for  I  never  reveal  secrets  of  my  masters  or 
mistresses,  never  !   never,  my  Lady  1  " 


so    GLOZED    THE    TEMPTER. 


249 


"You  are  more  cunning  than  you  look,  nevertheless," 
thoLii:;ht  Angelique,  "  whatever  scruple  you  may  have  about 
secrets."  "  Fanchon,"  said  she,  "  I  will  make  one  condition 
with  you  :  I  will  take  you  into  my  service  if  you  will  tell  me 
whether  vou  ever  saw  the  Lady  of  I>eaumanoir." 

An,m.'liqae's  notions  of  honor,  clear  enough  in  theory, 
never  prevented  her  sacrificing  them  without  compunction 
to  gain  an  object  or  learn  a  secret  that  interested  her. 

I  will  willingly  tell  you  all   1  know,  my  Lady.     I   have 

seen  her  once ;  none  of  the  servants  are  supposed  to  know 

I  she  is  in  the  Chateau,  but  of  course  all  do."      Fanchon  stood 

I  with  her  two  hands  in  the  pockets  of  her  apron,  as  ready  to 

talk  as  the  pretty  grisette  who  directed  Lawrence  Sterne  to 

[the  Opera  Com i que. 

"Of  course!"   remarked  Angelique,   "a  secret  like  that 

icould  never  be  kept  in  the  Chateau  of   IJeaumanoir!     Now 

tell  me.    Fanchon,    what   is  she    like.''"    Angelique    sat    tip 

eagerly  and   brushed    back    the   hair  from   her   ear   with  a 

rapid  stroke  of  her  hand  as  she  questioned  the  girl.     There 

I  was  a  look  in  her  eyes  that  made  P'anchon  a  little  afraid, 

[and  broufjjht  out  more  truth  than  she  intended  to  impart. 

"I  saw  her  this  morning,  my  Lady,  as  she  knelt  in  her 
[uratory :  the  half-open  door  tempted  me  to  look,  in  spite  of 
[he  orders  of  Dame  Tremblay." 

"Ah!  you  saw  her  this  morning!"  repeated  Angelique 
inii)etuously ;  "how  does  she  appear?  Is  she  better  in 
I  )ks  than  when  she  first  came  to  the  Chateau,  or  worse  ? 
jShc  oui;ht  to  be  worse,  much  worse  !  " 

■  I  do  not  know,  my  Lady,  but,  as  T  said,  I  looked  in  the 

'Dr.  although  forbid  to  do  so.  Half-open  doors  are  .so 
Itiiiiptin;^.  and  one  cannot  shut  one's  eyes  !  Kven  a  keyhole 
ji^luud  to  resist  when  you  long  to  know  what  is  on  the  other 
Iside  of  it    -  I  always  found  it  so  !  " 

"I  dare  say  you  did!     Ikit  how  does  she  look?"  broke  in 

iigelique,    impatiently   stamping    her    dainty    foot    on    the 


Oh.  so  pale,  my  Lady!  but  her  face  is  the  loveliest  I 
pver  saw.       almost,"  added  she,  with  an  after-thought ;  "  but 
pi  sad !  she  looks  like  the  twin  sister  of  the  blessed  Madonna 
[ithe  Seminary  chapel,  my  Lady." 
"  Was  she  at  her  devotions,  Fanchon  ?  " 


250 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


"1  think  not,  my  Lady:  she  was  reading  a  letter  wjijch 
she  had  just  received  from  the  Intendant." 

Angelique's  eyes  were  now  al)laze.  She  conjectured  :it 
once  that  Caroline  was  corresponding  with  liigot,  and  that 
the  letter  brought  to  the  Intendant  by  Master  Tothier  was  in 
reply  to  one  from  him.  "  But  how  do  you  know  the  Ictur 
she  was  reading,  wis  from  the  InienJant  ?  It  fi,u;a  !i,,t 
be  '  "  .'\ii[w';eli'.!  u  's  »  '''ebrow'  contr.,cted  angrily,  and  a  dark 
shadow  p.i-s-'d  over  her  face.  She  said  "  It  could  not  Ix.' 
but  she    ili  '1  ctjinld  be,  and  was. 

"  Oh,  but  it  was  I  -^m  the  Intendant,  my  Lady  I  1  heard 
her  repeat  his  naiue  ai;d  pray  God  to  bless  Franrois  W'vjix 
for  his  kind  words.  That  is  the  Intendant's  name,  is  it  nu. 
my  Lady  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  it  is !  I  should  not  have  doubted  you,  i'an- 
chon  !  but  could  you  gather  the  purport  of  that  letter: 
Speak  truly,  Fanchon,  and  I  will  reward  you  splendidh, 
What  think  you  it  was  about .-'  " 

"I  did  more  than  gather  the  purport  of  it,  my  Lady:  i 
have  got  the  letter  itself ! "  Angelique  sprang  up  eaiiedv, 
as  if  to  embrace  Fanchon.  "  I  happened,  in  my  ea,ueriie>\ 
tc  jar  the  door;  the  lady,  imagining  some  one  was  coiiiin;, 
rose  suddei.ly  and  left  the  room.  In  her  haste  she  droppid 
the  letter  oa  the  floor.  I  picked  it  up ;  1  thougiit  no  harm, 
as  1  \\  as  determined  to  leave  I  )ame  Tremblay  today, 
Would  'uy  Lady  like  to  read  the  letter  .''  " 

Angelique  fairly  sprang  at  the  offer.  '*  You  have  got  the 
letter,  r'anchon  ?  Let  me  see  it  instantly  !  How  considerate 
of  you  to  bring  it  1  I  will  give  you  this  ring  for  thai  k'ller! 
She  pulled  a  ring  off  her  finger,  and  seizing  l^'anclion's  hand, 
put  it  on  hers.  F^mchon  w;ts  enclianted ;  she  admired  the 
ring,  as  she  turned  it  luund  and  round  her  finger. 

"I  am  infinitely  obliged,  my  Lady,  for  your  gift.  It  i> 
worth  a  million  such  letters,"  said  she. 

"The  letter  outweighs  a  million  rings,"  replied  .\ni;eHqiie 
as  she  tore  it  open  violently  and  sat  down  to  read. 

The  first  word  struck  her  like  a  stone  : 


pr,i;. '  i)iay,  my 
e  mure  wortu 


"  Deak    Cakoi.ixp:  :  "  —  it  was  written  in  the  hold  h,ind  ol'thcj 
Intendant,  which  .Angeruiue  knew  very  well — "  You  ha\r  .suliimi 
too  mueh  for  my  sake,  hut  I  am  neither  unfeeling  nor  mi^jratefji 


so    GLOZED    THE    TEMPTER. 


251 


wve  "  "vs  for  you!  Your  fatb'M"  has  gone  to  F'ran-'"t:  in  search 
oi  vou  No  one  suspects  \'HI  to  be  here.  Remain  patiently 
uiiPie  '. '■  1  '^  *^  ^t  present,  and  in  the  utmost  secrecy,  or  there  will 
ne  a  st"  m  which  n  ly  upset  us  l)oth.  'I'n,  to  be  happy,  and  let 
not  tlu  swcelc  t  eyes  that  were  ever  seen  grow  dim  with  needless 
rLHTiei^  l)etter  and  brighter  days  will  surely  come.  Meanwhile, 
pia'. !  prav,  my  L'an)''nc'  'l  will  do  you  goorl,  and  perhaps  make 
me  more  wortliy  01  the  love  which  I  know  is  wholly  mine. 

"Adieu,  Francois." 

Angc'liciue  devoured  rather  than  read  the  letter.  She  had 
no  sooner  perused  it  than  she  tore  it  up  in  a  paroxysm  of 
luiv,  scattering  its  pieces  like  snowHakes  over  the  floor,  and 
>i,impini;  on  them  with  her  tirm  foot  as  if  she  would  tread 
them  into  annihilation. 

Faiiclion  was  not  unaccustomed  to  exhibitions  of  feminir. 
wralh;  but  she  was  fairly  frightened  at  the  terrible  rage  that 
siiouk  Aiige'lique  from  head  to  foot. 

(•'anchonl   did    you   read   that    letter?''   demanded   sh^ 
inninj^  suddenly  upon  the  trembling  maid.     The   girl   saw 
iicr  mistress's  cheeks  twitch    with    passion,   and  her  hands 
I  clench  as  if  she  would  strike  her  if  she  answered  yes. 

Shrinking  with  fear,  Fanchon  replied  faintly,  "  No,  my 
Ladv:  1  cannot  read." 

•And  you  have  allowed  no  other  person  to  read  it  .-^ " 

'No.  my  Lady;  I  was  afraid  to  show  the  letter  to  any 
June:  you  know  1  ought  not  to  have  taken  it !" 

"Was  no  inc^uiry  made  about  it?"  Angelique  laid  her 
hand  ui)on  the  girl's  shoulder,  who  trembled  from  head  to 

loot. 

'\\'^.  my  T.ady ;  Dame  Tremblay  turned  the  Chateau 
[upside  down,  looking  for  it;   but  I   dared  not  tell   her    I    had 

"  1  think  you  speak  truth,  hanchon  !  "  rejDlied  Angelic|ue, 
[;,'eitint;  somewhat  over   her   passion ;    but    her    bosom    still 

leaved,  like  the  ocean  after  a  storm.  "  v\nd  now  mind  what 
il-av!'"       her  hand  pressed  heavily  on  the  girl's  shoulder, 

'vhilc  she  gave  her  a  look  that  seemed  to  freeze  the  very  nuir- 
|ro\vinher  bones.     "Vou  know   a  .secret  about  the  I.ady  of 

lieaiiiiianoir,  Kanchon,  and  one  about  me  too!  If  you  ever 
hpeak  ol  either  to  man  or  woman,  or  even  to  yoiu'self,  I 
pvill  till  tlic  louLTue  out  of  vour  mouth  anil   nail   it  to  that 


252 


THE    GOLDEN    UOG. 


door-post !  Mind  my  words,  Fanchon  !  I  never  fail  to  do 
what  I  threaten." 

"Oh,  only  do  not  look  so  at  me,  my  Lady  !  "  replied  poor 
Fanchon,  perspiring  with  fear.  "  I  am  sure  I  never  .>,liall 
speak  of  it.  1  swear  by  our  lilessed  Lady  of  Ste.  Fovc!  I 
will  never  breathe  to  mortal  that  1  gave  you  that  lelici." 

"  That  will  do  !  "  replied  Angelique,  throwing  herself  down 
in  her  great  chair,  "  And  now  you  may  go  to  Lizette:  >he 
will  attend  to  you.      But  rcniofihcr  !'' 

The  frightened  girl  did  not  wait  for  another  coniniand  to 
go.  Ange'lique  held  up  her  finger,  which  to  Fanchon  lookid 
terrible  as  a  poniard.  She  hurried  down  to  the  servants'  hall 
with  a  secret  held  fast  between  her  teeth  for  once  in  her  life: 
and  she  trembled  at  the  very  thought  of  ever  letting  it  escape. 

Angelique  sat  with  her  hands  on  her  temples,  starintj;  upon 
the  fire  that  fiared  and  flickered  in  the  deep  fireplace.  She 
had  seen  a  wild,  wicked  vision  there  once  before.  It  caiiii- 
again,  as  things  evil  never  fail  to  come  again  at  our  hiddin,', 
(lood  may  delay,  but  evil  never  waits.  The  red  fire  turned 
itself  into  shapes  of  lurid  dens  and  caverns,  changinjjj  from 
horror  to  horror  until  her  creative  fancy  formed  tluiii  inin 
the  secret  chamber  of  Beaumanoir  with  its  one  fair,  .solitary 
inmate,  her  rival  for  the  hand  of  the  Intendant,  hir 
fortunate  rival,  if  she  might  believe  the  letter  brought  to  her 
so  strangely.  Angelique  looked  fiercely  at  the  fragments  of 
it  lying  u[)on  the  carpet,  and  wished  she  had  not  destroyed 
it ;  Init  every  word  of  it  was  stamped  upon  her  memory,  as  if 
branded  with  a  hot  iron. 

"1  see  it  all,  now!"  exclaimed  she  —  "Bigot's  falseness, 
and  her  shameless  effrontery  in  seeking  him  in  his  very 
house.  But  it  shall  not  be!"  Angeli(|ue's  voice  was  hke 
the  cry  of  a  wounded  panther  tearing  at  the  arrow  which 
has  pierced  his  flank,  "  Is  Augclit|ue  des  MeJoiNes  to  he 
humiliated  by  that  woman  ?  Never  !  But  my  bright  dreaub 
will  have  no  fulfilment  so  long  as  she  lives  at  Beaumanoir.- 
so  long  as  she  lives  anywhere  !  " 

She  sat  still  for  a  while,  gazing  into  the  fire;  and  the 
secret  chamber  of  IJeaumanoir  again  formed  itself  before  her 
vision.  She  sprang  up,  touched  by  the  hand  of  her  ^'ood 
angel  perhaps,  and  for  the  last  time,  "Satan  whispered  it 
again  in  my  ear!"  cried   she,     "Ste.   Marie!   1  am  notsuj 


so  GLozp:n  tiik  temptkr. 


253 


wicked  as  that !     Last  night  the  thought  came  to  me  in  the 

([;irli I  shook  it  off  at  dawn  of  day.     To-night  it  comes 

a<^ain,  —  and  I  let  it  touch  me  Hke  a  lover,  and  I  neither 
withdraw  my  hand  nor  tremble  !  'I'o-morrow  it  will  return 
for  tiie  last  time  and  stay  with  me,  -  and  I  shall  let  it  sleep 
on  mv  pillow !  The  babe  of  sin  will  ha\e  been  born  and 
waxed  to  a  full  demon,  and  1  shall  yield  myself  up  to  his 
embraces !  O  Bigot,  Bigot !  what  have  you  not  done  ?  Ccst 
h  fiiiitc  a  Tous  !  Ccst  la  faute  a  vans  /"  She  repeated  this 
exclamation  several  times,  as  if  by  accusing  Bigot  she 
excused  her  own  evil  imaginings  and  cast  the  blame  of  them 
upon  him.  She  seemed  drawn  down  into  a  vortex  from  which 
llitie  was  no  escape.  She  gave  herself  up  to  its  drift  in  a 
sort  of  passionate  abandonment.  The  death  or  the  banish- 
ment of  Caroline  were  the  (-nly  alternatives  she  could  con- 
lemphUe.  "  '  The  sweetest  eyes  that  were  ever  seen  '  —  Bigot's 
toolish  words  !  "  thought  she  ;  "  and  the  influence  of  those  eyes 
must  l)e  killed  if  Angelique  des  Meloises  is  ever  to  mount 
the  lofty  chariot  of  her  ambition." 

■'Other  women,"  she  thought  bitterly,  "would  abandon 
greatness  for  love,  and  in  the  arms  of  a  faithful  lover  like 
Lu  Gardeur  find  a  compensation  for  the  slights  of  the  Inten- 
dant ! " 

l)Ut  Angelique  was  not  like  other  women  :  she  was  born  to 
conquer  men —  not  to  yield  to  them.  The  steps  of  a  throne 
jllittered  in  her  wild  fancy,  and  she  would  not  lose  the  game 
of  her  life  because  she  had  missed  the  first  throw.  Bigot 
was  false  to  her,  but  he  was  still  worth  the  winning,  for  all 
the  reasons  which  made  her  first  listen  to  him.  She  had  no 
love  for  him  —  not  a  spark!  But  his  name,  his  rank,  his 
wealth,  his  influence  at  Court,  and  a  future  career  of  glory 
there — these  things  she  had  regarded  as  her  own  by  right 
of  her  beauty  and  skill  in  ruling  men.  ''  No  rival  shall  ever 
boast  she  has  conquered  Angelique  des  Meloises  !  "  cried  she, 
clenching  her  hands.  And  thus  it  was  in  this  crisis  of  her 
fate  die  love  of  Le  Gardeur  was  blown  like  a  feather  before 
the  breath  of  her  passionate  selfishness.  The  weights  of 
gold  pulled  her  down  to  the  nadir.  Angc'lique's  final  resolu- 
tion was  irrevocably  taken  before  her  eager,  hopeful  lover 
appeared  in  answer  to  her  summons  recalling  him  from  the 
festival  of  belmont. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 


SEALS  OF  LOVE,  HUT  SEALED  IN  VAIN. 


SHE  sal  wailinj;  Le  Gardeur's  arrival,  and  the  tlioui^ht  of 
him  bejj;an  to  assert  its  inlhience  as  the  antidote  ot  the 
poisonous  stuff  she  had  taken  into  her  imagjinatioii.  Ifi:, 
presence  so  handsome,  his  manner  so  kind,  his  love  >(i 
undoubted,  carried  her  into  a  region  of  intense  satisfaction, 
Angelique  never  thought  so  honestly  well  of  herself  as  wlun 
recounting  the  marks  of  affection  bestowed  upon  her  by  Lc 
(rardeur  de  Repentigny.  "His  love  is  a  treasure  for  anv 
woman  to  possess,  and  he  has  given  it  all  to  me  !  "  said  ^hc 
to  herself.  "There  are  women  who  value  themsehes  wholly 
by  the  value  placed  upon  them  by  others;  but  I  value  otlkr> 
by  the  measure  of  myself.  I  love  Le  Gardeur ;  and  what  1 
love  I  do  not  mean  to  lose ! "  added  she,  with  an  inconsc- 
(juence  that  fitted  ill  with  her  resolution  regarding;  the 
Intendant.  Ikit  Angelique  was  one  who  reconciled  to  licrseif 
all  professions,  however  opposite  or  however  incongruous. 

A  hasty  knock  at  the  door  of  the  mansion,  followed  by  the 
quick,  well-known  step  up  the  broad  stair,  brought  Lc 
Gardeur  into  her  presence,  fie  looked  liushed  and  dis- 
ordered as  he  took  her  eagerly-extended  hand  and  pressed 
it  to  his  lips. 

Her  whole  aspect  underw^ent  a  transformation  in  the 
presence  of  her  lover.  She  was  unf(Mgnedly  glad  to  see 
him.  Without  letting  go  his  hand  she  led  him  to  the  sofa, 
and  sat  down  by  him.  Other  men  had  the  semblance  of  her 
graciousness,  and  a  perfect  imitation  it  was  too ;  but  he 
alone  had  the  reality  of  her  affection. 

"O  Le  Gardeur!"  exclaimed  she,  looking  him  through 
and  through,  and  detecting  no  flaw  in  his  honest  adniiratiun, 
"  can  you  forgive  me  for  asking  you  to  come  and  see  me 
to-night?  and  for  absolutely  no  reason  —  none  in  the  world, 
Le  Gardeur,  but  that  I  longed  to  see  you  I     I  was  jealous  of 

254 


SKALS    OF    I.OVK,    RUT    SKA[,KI)    IX    VAIX. 


255 


tion    in  the 


llclmonl  for  drawing  you  away  from  the  Maison  des  Meloises 

tii-nijjjht !  " 

•  And  what  better  reason  could  I  have  in  the  world  than 
that  vou  were  longing  to  see  me,  Angelique  ?  I  think  I 
shduUl  leave  the  gale  of  Heaven  itself  if  you  called  me  back, 
daiiini;!  Your  presence  for  a  minute  is  more  to  me  than 
hdUis  of  festivity  at  Belmont,  or  the  company  of  any  other 
woman  in  the  world." 

.\n^cli(|ue  was  not  insensible  to  the  devotion  of  Le  Gar- 
(icur.  Her  feelings  were  touched,  and  never  slow  in  find- 
in;r  an  interpretation  for  them  she  raised  his  hand  quickly 
tn  her  lips  and  kissed  it.  "  I  had  no  motive  in  sending  for 
vou  but  to  see  you,  Le  Gardeur  !  "  said  she;  "  will  that  con- 
tent you?     If  it  won't  — " 

"This  shall."  replied  he,  kissing  her  cheek  —  which  she 
was  far  from  averting  or  resenting, 

"Thai  is  so  like  you,  Le  (lardeur !  "  replied  she,  --"to 
lake  before  it  is  given  !  "  She  stopped  —  ''  VVhat  was  I  going 
to  sav  ? "  added  she.  "  It  was  given,  and  my  contentment  is 
perfect  to  have  you  here  by  my  side  !  "  If  her  thoughts 
reverted  al  this  moment  to  the  Intendant  it  was  with  a  feel- 
\r\2,  of  repulsion,  and  as  she  looked  fondly  on  the  face  of  T^e 
Gardeur  she  could  not  help  contrasting  his  handsome  looks 
with  the  bard,  swarthy  features  of  Bigot. 

"  I  wish  my  contentment  were  perfect,  Angelique  ;  but  it 
is  in  your  power  to  make  it  so  —  will  you  ?  Why  keep  me 
forever  on  the  threshold  of  my  happiness,  or  of  my  despair, 
whiciie\  er  you  shall  decree  ?  I  have  spoken  to  AmeTie  to- 
night of  you ! " 

•0  do  not  press  me,  Le  Gardeur!"  exclaimed  she, 
violently  agitated,  anxious  to  evade  the  question  she  saw 
hurning  on  his  lips,  md  distrustful  of  her  own  power  to 
refuse ;  "  not  now !  n  )t  to-night  !  Another  day  you  shall 
know  how  much  I  love  you,  Le  Gardeur !  Why  will  not 
men  content  themselves  ..ith  knowing  we  love  them,  without 
stripping  our  favors  of  all  grace  by  making  them  duties, 
and  in  the  end  destroying  our  love  by  marrying  us  ?  "  A 
riash  of  her  natural  archness  came  over  her  face  as  she  said 
this. 

"That  would  not  be  your  case  or  mine,  Angelique," 
replied  he,  somewhat  puzzled  at  her  strange  speech.     But 


256 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


she  ros'.'  up  suddenly  without  replying,  and  wulkud  in  ,1 
buffet,  where  stood  a  silver  salver  full  of  refreshmt'iu>.  -i 
suppose  you  ha /e  fe'^'^ted  so  mai^nificently  at  IJelniont  that 
you  will  not  care  for  my  humble  hospitalities."  said  sh, 
offering  him  a  cu))  of  rare  wine,  a  recent  gift  of  ihc  Intend- 
ant,  which  she  did  not  mention,  howe\  er.  '•  Von  have  iin; 
told  me  a  word  yet  of  the  grand  party  at  belmonl.  ['itnv 
Philibert  has  been  highly  honorec'  by  the  Jloniietcs  Cuii>  \ 
am  sure  !  " 

"And  merits  all  the  honor  he  receives!  Whv  were  vnn 
not  there  too,  Angc'lique  ?  Pierre  would  iiave  been  {leliL;ln 
ed,"  rejilied  he,  ever  ready  to  defend  Pierre  Philibert. 

"And  I  too!  Init  I  feared  to  be  disloyal  to  tlu:  Fiip. 
ponne  !  "  said  she,  half  mockingly.  "  I  am  a  partner  in  the 
(Irand  Company  you  know,  I>e  (iardeur  !  Put  I  tontc^s 
Pierre  Philibert  is  the  handsomest  man  —  except  one  in 
New  France.  I  own  to  that.  I  thought  to  jiique  Aiiirlie 
one  day  by  telling  her  so,  but  on  the  contrary  I  plca.^etl  hir 
beyond  measure  !  She  agreed  without  excepting  e\en  tik 
one  1  " 

"  Amelie  told  me  your  good  opinions  of  Pieire,  and  ! 
thanked  you  for  it  !  "  said  he,  taking  her  iiand.  '*  And  now, 
darling,  since  you  cannot  with  wine,  words,  or  ^^in^()nunL■^^ 
divert  me  from  my  purpose  in  nuiking  you  declare  whatvcii 
think  of  me  also,  let  me  tell  you  I  have  promised  Aniein' 
to  bring  her  your  answer  to-night !  " 

The  eyes  of  Le  Gardeur  shone  with  a  light  of  loval  aftfc- 
tion.  Angelique  saw  there  was  no  escaping  a  declaration, 
Slie  sat  irresolute  and  trembling,  with  one  hautl  icstinij;  im 
his  arm  and  the  other  held  up  tleprecatingly.  It  was  ,1 
piece  of  acting  she  had  reliearsed  to  herself  for  this  foresci'ii 
occasion.  lUit  her  tongue,  usually  so  nimble  and  free,  fal- 
tered for  once  in  the  rush  of  emotions  that  well-nigh  over- 
powered her.  'I'o  become  the  honoi'ed  wife  of  Le  (laideur 
de  Repentigny,  th(i  sister  of  the  beauteous  Amelie,  tln'  nirci 
of  the  noble  Lad)'  de  Tilly,  was  a  pit'ce  of  fortune  In  iiaw 
satisfied,  until  recently,  both  Ium"  heart  and  lu'r  andiiliii. 
Put  now  Angelicjue  was  the  dupe  of  dreams  aiul  fami'^ 
The  l\o\al  Intendant  was  at  her  feet.  Prance  and  ii> 
courtly  splendors  and  court  intrigues  opened  \  istas  nt 
grandeur  to  !ier  asj^ring  .uul   imscrupulous  ambition,    ^'ii^' 


SEALS    OF    LOVK,     I5UT    SEALKll     IN     VAIN. 


257 


valkcd  lo  a 
iiiicnl>.  "i 
lelnioiu  iha! 
."  said  shf, 
1!h;  liiieiiii- 
011  have  IV : 
unt.     I'idk 

UCh'S    Gilts  1 

I}'  were  ymi 
H'cn  delight- 
il)(jii. 

lo  the  I''ri]i- 
arttUT  in  the 
it  i  c■()^k■.^^ 
:pt  one      ill 

ic|UC    Anirlii: 

ptca:^ed  hiT 
w^  e\eii  the 

ierrc,  and  ! 

*'  And  now, 

in^oiDciicv'' 

re  what  you 

sed  Anic'iic 

lo\-al  alkc- 
(Icchiration, 

restiiiii  (111 

ll   was  a 

his  Idivseiii 

,11(1  free.  f;il- 

i-ni;j;h  over- 

l,e  (lardeiir 

ic  the  niccc 

line  til  have 

a    aiiiliiti' 11. 

and  fa!l(il'^ 

ICC    and  \\> 

I     \istas   (it 

)itioii.     She 


could  not  lore^o  them,  and  would  not  !  She  knew  that,  all 
the  time  her  heart  was  nieltinj^  beneath  the  passionate  eyes 
of  Le  (kirdeur. 

•  1  ha\e  spoken  to  Anielie,  and  promised  to  take  her  your 
answer  to-night,"  said  !ie,  in  a  tone  that  'Indlled  every  fibre 
,if  her  helter  nature.  "  She  is  ready  to  embrace  ycu  as  her 
^ister.     Will  you  be  my  wife,  Angelique  ?  " 

An^edique  sat  silent;  she  dared  not  look  up  at  him.  If 
she  liad.  she  knew  her  hard  resolution  would  melt.  She 
felt  his  gaze  upon  her  without  seeing  it.  She  grew  pale  and 
tried  to  answ  er  no,  but  could  not ;  and  she  would  not  answer 
vcs. 

The  vision  she  had  so  wickedly  revelled  in  Hashf;d  again 
upon  her  at  this  supreme  moment.  She  saw,  in  a  panorama 
(if  a  few  seconds,  tlie  gilded  halls  of  Versailles  pass  before 
her,  and  with  the  vision  came  the  old  temptation. 

■•.\ngedique  !  "  repeated  he,  in  a  tone  full  of  passionate 
entreaty,,  '■  will  you  be  my  wife,  loved  as  no  woman  ever  was, 

loved  as  alone  Le  <)ardeur  de  Repentigny  can  love  you?" 

She  knew  that.  As  she  weakened  under  his  pleading 
aiid  ^raspe^'  both  his  hands  tight  in  hers,  she  strG\'e  to  frame 
,;  reply  wliich  should  say  yes  wdiile  it  meant  no;  and  say  no 
which  he  should  interpret  yes. 

"All  New  P'rance  wall  honor  you  as  the  Chatelaine  de 
Re|)eatigny  !  There  wall  be  none  higher,  as  there  will  be 
none  fairer,  than  my  bride  !"  Poor  J  ,e  Gardeur  1  lie  had 
adiin  suspicion  that  Angeliciue  was  looking  to  I'Yance  as  a 
liuiiii;  theatre  for  her  beauty  and  talents. 

She  still  sat  mute,  and  grew  i)aler  every  moment.  Words 
t'irnied  themselves  upon  her  lips,  but  she  feared  to  say  them, 
M)  terrihle  was  the  earnestness  of  this  man's  love,  and  no  less 
vivid  the  consciousness  of  her  own.  Her  face  assumed  the 
Hardness  of  marble,  pale  as  Parian  and  as  rigid  ;  a  trem- 
'  liiv,;  of  her  wdiite  lijis  showed  the  strife  going  on  wdthin 
:icr;  she  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  that  he  might  not 
•-a'  the  tears  she  felt  qui\-ering  under  the  full  lids,  but  she 
remained  mute. 

" Anm,di(|ue !  "  exclaimed  he,  dixining  her  unexpressc'd 
rdiisal :  "why  do  you  turn  awav  from  me?  \'ou  surely  do 
ii't  reject  me?  Hut  1  am  mad  to  think  it!  Sjieak,  darling! 
''Ill'  word,  one  sign,  one  l(;ok  from   those  dear  e)es,  in  con- 


258 


TllK    (iOLDKX     doc;. 


sent  to  be  the  wife  of  Le  Garcleur,  will  bring  life's  iiapjiine,,, 
to  us  both  !  "  He  took  her  hand,  and  drew  it  gently  fium 
her  eyes  and  kissed  it,  but  she  still  averted  her  gaze  from 


him ;   she   could   not   look    at   him,  but   the  words 


(''■opped 


slowly  and  feebly  from  her  lips  in  response  to  his  appeal: 

"  I  love  you,  I^e  Gardeur,  but  I  will  not  marry  you  1  "  s;iicl 
she.  She  could  not  utter  more,  but  her  hand  gra^jjinl  his 
with  a  fierce  pressure,  as  if  wanting  to  hold  him  fast  in  ih,. 
very  moment  of  refusal. 

He  started  Ijack,  as  if  touched  by  fire.  "  Vou  l()\e  nic, 
but  will  not  marry  me!  Angelique,  what  mystery  is  tlii^,- 
But  you  are  only  trying  me  !  A  thousand  thanks  for  xmw 
love  ;  the  other  is  but  a  jest,  a  good  jest,  which  I  \v;i; 
laugh  at!"  And  Le  Gardeur  tried  to  laugh,  but  ii  \\;i> , 
sad  failure,  for  he  saw  she  did  not  join  in  his  elTorl  at  iiiviri 
ment,  but  looked  pale  and  trembling,  as  if  ready  to  faint. 

She  laid  her  hands  upon  his  hca\ily  and  sadly,  lie  full 
her  refusal  in  the  very  touch.  It  was  like  cold  lead.  "Im 
not  laugh,  Le  Gardeur,  I  cannot  laugh  over  it  ;  this  is  no 
jest,  but  mortal  earnest  !  What  I  say  I  mean  !  1  luve  you, 
Le  Gardeur,  but  I  will  not  marry  you  !  " 

She  drew  her  hands  away,  as  if  to  mark  the  emphasis  she 
could  not  speak.  He  felt  it  like  the  chawing  of  his  'v';irt- 
strings. 

She  turned  her  eyes  full  upon  him  now,  as  if  to  lodk 
whether  love  of  her  was  extinguished  in  him  by  liei'  iL'fiis.il, 
"I  love  you,  Le  (iardeur  you  know  I  do!  Hut  I  will  imi 
—  I  cannot       nuiny  you  now  I  "   repeated  she. 

"  Now  !  "  he  caught  at  the  straw  like  a  drowning  swiiiiiiirr 
in  a  whirl])ool.  "  Now  .''  I  said  not  now  but  w  luii  you 
please,  Angeliciue  !  \'ou  are  worth  a  man's  waiting  liis  \\k 
for  ! " 

"No,  Le  Garcleur!"  she  replied,  "I  am  not  worth  Vdiii 
waiting  for  ;  n  cannot  be,  as  1  once  hoped  it  might  \>v.  hm 
love  you  I  do  and  ever  shall  !  "  and  the  false,  fail  woiiiui 
kissed  him  fatuously.  "  I  love  you,  Le  Gardeur.  hut  I  will 
not  marry  jou  !  " 

"  \'ou  do  not  surely  mean  it,  ,\ngeli(pie  !"  exclaimed  he; 
"you  will  not  gi\e  me  death  insteacl  of  lifi'  ?  N'ou  cannot  he 
so  false  to  yoiu"  own  heart,  so  cruel  lo  mine  ?  Si'c.  An^i'- 
licpie  !   My  saintly  sister  Amelie  believed   in   your  low. 


si'.Ai.s  OK   i.ovi:,   MUT  si:ali:i)   ix   vain. 


259 


sent  these  flowers  to  place  in  your  hair  when  you  had  con- 
sented to  be  my  wife,  —  her  sister ;  you  will  not  refuse  them, 
Anuelique  ?" 

He  raised  his  hand  to  place  the  garland  upon  h^r  head, 
but  .\iii:;el!que  turned  quickly,  and  they  fell  at  her  feet. 
••  Amelie's  gifts  arq  not  fcjr  me,  Le  (iardeur-I  do  not  merit 
iluni !  1  confess  my  fault:  I  am,  I  know,  false  to  my  own 
iicait.  and  cruel  to  yuins.  Despise  me,  -kill  me  for  it  il 
vmiwili,  LeCJardeur!  Ijctter  you  did  kill  me,  perhaps!  hut 
I  laiinot  lie  to  you  as  1  can  to  other  men  !  Ask  me  not  to 
Lhan;j,e  my  resolution,  for  1  neither  can  nor  will."  She 
spoke  wiUi  impassioned  energy,  as  if  fortifying  her  refusal 
1)V  the  leiteration  of  it. 

"It  is  past  comprehension!"  was  all  he  could  say,  be- 
wildered at  her  words  thus  dislocated  from  all  their  natural 
sL'(|iience  of  association.  "  Love  me  and  not  marry  me  !  — 
thai  means  siie  will  marry  another  !  "  thought  he,  with  a  jeal- 
ous pang.  "  Tell  me,  Angelique,"  continued  he,  after  several 
iiionicnts  of  puzzled  silence,  '*  is  there  some  inscrutable  reason 
that  makes  you  keep  my  love  and  reject  my  hand  ?  " 

"  Xo  reason,  Le  (lardeur  !  It  is  mad  unreason,  —  1  feel 
that,  --but  it  is  no  less  true.  I  love  you,  but  I  will  not 
many  you."  She  spoke  with  more  resolution  now.  The 
fii.st  plunge  was  over,  and  with  it  her  fear  and  trembling  as 
she  sat  on  the  brink. 

The  iteration  droxe  him  l^eside  iiimself.  Me  seized 
Ikt h;inds.  and  exclaimed  with  \idiemence,       ** There  is  a  man 

ari\al  a  more  fortunate  lo\er  behind  all  this,  Ange- 
lii|ue  des  Meloises  !  It  is  not  yourself  that  speaks,  but  one 
thai  prompts  )()u.  \'ou  ha\e  given  your  love  to  another, 
aiui  discarded  me  !      is  it  not  so  .^  " 

'■  1  have  neither  discarded  you,  nor  loved  another,"  An- 
,;;cli(|iK'  (■(pii\()cate(l.  She  played  her  .sod  away  at  this 
niiiniLiU  with  the  mental  reserx-ation  that  .he  had  not  yet 
ilt'iic  what  sh.e  had  resolved  to  do  upon  the  lirst  opportunity 

;i(crpi  the  hand  of  the  Intendant  liigot. 

"  It  is  well  for  that  oilier  man.  if  there  be  one  !  "  Le  Clar- 
licui  iDsr  and  walked  angriK'  a(  loss  the  loom  two  or  three 
tii'U's.  Angeli(|ue  was  plajdng  a  game  ol  chess  with  Satan 
'"I'll''    'ail,  and  fell  thai  she  was  losing  il. 

"  Then;  was  a  Sphinx  in  ohKii  limes,"  said  he,  "  that  pro- 


26o 


THE  GOLnEN  DOG. 


pounded  a  riddle,  and  he  who  failed  to  solve  it  had  lo  die 
Your  riddle  will  be  the  death  of  me,  for  I  cannot  solve  it, 
Ange'lique  !  " 

"Do  not  try  to  solve  it,  dear  Le  (lardeur  I  Keniember 
that  when  her  riddle  was  solved  the  Sphinx  threw  lK'i>L'it 
into  the  sea.  I  doubt  that  nia\-  be  my  fate  !  lUu  vou  ar, 
still  my  friend,  Le  Gardeur !  "  added  she,  seating:,  lioi>Lif 
aj;"ain  by  his  side,  in  her  old  fond,  cocjuettish  inaiimi, 
"  See  these  (lowers  of  Amelie's,  which  1  did  not  place  in  nn 
hair  ;  I  treasure  them  in  my  l)os()m  !  "  She  gathered  them 
up  as  she  spoke,  kissed  them,  and  placed  them  in  hei  ijo^nm, 

"  You  are  still  my  friend,  Le  Gardeur  ?  "  Her  eyes  lunied 
upon  him   with  the  old  look  she  could  so  well  assume. 

"I  am  more  than  a  thousand  friends,  .\ngeli(|iic : ' 
replied  he;  "but  1  shall  curse  myself  that  1  can  remain  mi 
and  see  vou  the  wife  of  another." 

'The  very  thought  drove  him  to  fren/y.  He  dashed  her 
hand  away  and  sprang  up  towards  the  dtjor,  but  turned  muI 
denly  round.  " 'Lhat  curse  was  not  for  you,  Augeiicnk' ! " 
said  he,  pale  and  agitated  ;  "  it  was  for  myself,  for  vwx 
believing  in  the  empty  love  you  professed  for  me.  Good-hv ! 
lie  happy !  As  for  me,  the  light  goes  out  of  my  life,  Aii^c 
lique,  from  this  day  forth.'' 

"  Oh,  stop  !  stop,  Le  Gardeur  !  do  not  leave  me  so  I  "  SIk 
rose  and  endeavored  to  restrain  him,  but  he  broke  finm 
her,  and  without  adieu  or  lurther  parley  rushed  out  l)arc- 
headed  into  the  street.  She  ran  to  the  l)alcony  to  call  him 
back,  and  leaning  far  over  it.  cried  out,  "  Le  Gardeur  I  \x 
(xardeur!"  Thnt  voice  would  have  called  him  liom  \\\y 
dead  could  he  have  heard  it,  hut  he  was  already  lost  in  ilif 
darkness.  A  few  rapid  steps  resounded  on  the  distant  i)a\i.'- 
ment,  and  Le  Gardeur  de  Ke]KMitigny  was  lost  to  her  lOrcvLM ! 

She  waited  long  on  the  balcony,  looking  o\'er  it  tor  ,i 
chance  of  hearing  his  returning  steps,  but  none  came.  I: 
was  the  last  impulse  of  her  love  to  sa\e  her.  but  it  w.h 
useless.  "Oh,  God!"  she  exclaimed  in  a  xoice  oi  nioi'.ii 
af;i  ny,  "he  is  gone  forever  my  Le  (iiirdeur  !  my  one  iriit' 
lover,  rejected  by  my  own  madness,  and  for  what  ?  "  She 
thought  "  For  V  .int  !  "  and  in  a  storm  of  passion,  ti'aiin.u  Ik'' 
goKkn  hail-  \er  her  tace.  and  beating  her  brea^i  in  Ih'I' 
i.i[._;e,  she  exctiimed,   -  "  I  am  wicked,  unutterably  bad.  uui^' 


SEALS    OF    I.OVK,    BUT    SEALED    IN    VAIN. 


261 


and  more  dcspicahle  than  the  vilest  creature  that  crouches 
under  the  bushes  on  the  Ikitture  !  How  dared  I,  unwom- 
iinh'  thai  I  am,  reject  the  hand  1  worship  for  sake  of  a  hand 
I  should  loathe  in  the  very  act  of  accepting  it  ?  The  slave 
that  is  sold  in  the  market  is  better  than  I,  for  she  has  no 
cb<jice,  while  I  sell  myself  to  a  mr.n  whom  1  already  hate, 
tor  he  is  already  false  to  me  !  The  wages  of  a  harlot  were 
more  honestly  earned  than  the  splendor  for  which  I  barter 
.soul  and  body  to  this  Intendant  !" 

The  |)assionate  girl  threw  herself  upon  the  Hoor,  nor 
hcechjcl  the  blood  that  oozed  from  her  head,  bruised  on  the 
hard  wood.  Her  mind  was  toin  by  a  thousand  wild  fancies. 
Sometimes  she  resolved  to  go  out  like  the  Rose  of  Sharon 
and  ■H'ek  her  beloved  in  the  city  and  throw  herself  at  his 
tect.  making  him  a  royal  gift  of  all   he  claimed  of  her. 

She  little  knew  her  own  wilful  heart.  She  had  seen  the 
world  bow  to  every  caprice  of  hers,  but  she  never  had  one 
principle  to  guide  her,  except  her  own  pleasure.  She  was 
iiDW  like  a  goddess  of  earth,  fallen  in  an  effort  to  reconcile 
impossibilities  in  human  hearts,  and  became  the  sport  of  the 
powers  of  wickedness. 

She  lay  upon  the  floor  senseless,  her  hands  in  a  violent 
daip.  Her  glorious  hair,  torn  and  disordered,  lay  over  her 
lii<e  the  royal  robe  of  a  queen  stricken  from  her  throne  and 
lying  dead  upon  the  floor  of  her  palace. 

it  was  long  after  midnight,  in  the  cold  hours  of  the  morn- 
111;;.  when  she  woke  from  her  swoon.  She  raised  herself 
ti:L'l)ly  upon  her  elbow,  and  looked  dazedly  up  at  the  cold, 
unfeeling  stars  that  go  on  shining  through  the  ages,  making 
no  sign  of  sympathy  with  human  griefs.  I'erseus  had  risen 
I"  his  meridian,  and  Algol,  her  natal  star,  alternately  dark- 
tned  and  brightened  as  if  it  were  the  scene  of  some  fierce 
loniliet  of  the  powers  of  light  and  darkness,  like  that  g(  ng 
nil  in  her  own  soul. 

licr  face  was  stained  with  hard  clots  of  blood  as  she 
rose,  cram pt'd  and  chilled  to  the  bone.  Tlu'  night  air  had 
liluwn  (-oldly  ujion  her  througli  the  open  lattice  ;  but  she 
\''Uil(|  not  sunnnon  her  maid  to  hi-r  assistance.  W'illiout 
undressing,  she  threw  herself  upon  a  couch,  and  utterly 
'\iirn  out  by  the  agitation  she  had  imdergone,  slept  far  into 

;n;  diiv, 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


THE    HURRIKT)    (QUESTION    OF    DESPAIR. 


LE  GARDEUR  plunged  headlong  down  the  silent  street, 
^  neither  knowing  nor  caring  whither.  Half  iiuul  with 
grief,  half  with  resentment,  he  vented  curses  upon  himself, 
upon  Angelique,  upon  the  world,  and  looked  u])on  Provi- 
dence itself  as  in  league  with  the  evil  powers  to  thwart  lii> 
happiness,  —  not  seeing  that  his  happiness  in  the  love  ot 
a  woman  like  Angelique  was  a  house  built  on  sand,  which 
the  first  storm  of  life  would  sweep  away. 

"Holla!  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  !  Is  that  you?" 
exclaimed  a  voice  in  the  niirht.  "  What  luckv  wind  l)l()\v> 
you  out  at  this  hour  ? "  Le  Gardeur  stopped  and  reco;'- 
nized  the  Chevalier  de  Pean.  "  Where  are  you  goin^^  in 
such  a  desperate   hurry?" 

"  To  the  devil !  "  replied  Le  Gardeur,  withdrawing  hi> 
hand  from  De  Pean's,  who  had  seized  it  with  an  ;una/in:; 
show  of  friendship.  "  It  is  the  only  road  left  o\K'u  to  iiic 
and  1  am  going  to  march  down  it  like  a  i:^(ir(/c  dii  t'orps  ot 
Satan!  \)\i  not  hold  me,  De  Pean!  Let  go  my  arm  !  I 
am  going  to  the  devil,  1  tell  you  !" 

"Why,  Le  Gardeur,"  was  the  reply,  "  that  is  a  broad  aii/i 
well-travelled  road  the  king's  highway,  in  fact.  I  am 
going  upon  it  myself,  as  fast  and  merrily  as  any  man  in 
New   France." 

"  Well,  go  on  it  then  !  March  either  before  or  after  nif. 
only  don't  go  with  iue,  De  Pean;  I  am  taking  the  shortc^l 
nils  to  get  to  the  end  of  it,  and  want  no  one  wi*h  iiie,"  \k 
Gardeur  walked  doggedly  on;  but  De  Pean  would  not  I'l' 
.;hiii;on   off.      lie  suspected  what  had   happened. 

"  'I'he  shortest  (  ut  I  know  is  by  the  Taverne  do  Meiiui, 
where  1  am  going  now,"  said  he,  "  and  I  should  hke  yiuir 
company,  Le  Gardeur  !     Our  set  are  having  a  gahi  ni,i;luoi 

2G2 


THE    HURRIED    OUESTIOX    OF    DESPAIR. 


263 


and  must  be  musical  as  the  frogs  of   IJeauport  by  this 


Come  along ! 


J)e  Pean  aaain  took  his  arm.     He 


It. 

hour ! 

w.ij  not  repelled  this  time. 

"  I  don't  care  where  I  go,  Ue  Pean !  "  replied  he,  for- 
getting his  dislike  to  this  man,  and  submitting  to  his  guid- 
ance.—  the  Taverne  de  Menut  was  just  the  place  for  him 
to  rush  into  and  drown  his  disappointment  in  wine.  The 
two  moved  on  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes. 

••  Why,  what  ails  you,  Le  Gardeur .? "  asked  his  com- 
|)anion,  as  they  walked  on  arm  in  arm.  "  Has  fortune 
frowned  upon  the  cards,  or  your  mistress  proved  a  fickle 
jade  Hkc  all  her  sex  ?  " 

His  words  were  irritating  enough  to  Le  Gardeur.  "  Look 
vou.  De  Pean,"  said  he,  stopping,  "  1  shall  quarrel  with  you 
if  you  repeat  such  remarks.  l>ut  you  mean  no  mischief  I 
dare  say,  although  I  would  not  swear  it ! "  Le  Gardeur 
looked  savage. 

De  Pean  saw  it  would  not  be  safe  to  rub  that  sore  igain. 
"  I'orgive  me,  Le  (Jardeur  !  "  said  he,  with  an  aif  c/f  :  ym- 
pathy  well  assumed.  "  I  meant  no  harm.  But  you  are 
susi)iei()us  of  your  friends  to-night  as  a  Turk  of  his  harem." 

"  1  have  reason  to  be  !  And  as  for  friends,  I  find  only 
such  friends  as  you,  De  Pean  !  And  I  begin  to  think  the 
world  has  no  better  !  "  The  clock  of  the  Recollets  struck 
the  hiour  as  they  passed  under  the  shadow  of  its  wall.  The 
brothers  of  St.  Francis  slept  cjuietly  on  their  peaceful  pil- 
lows, like  sea  birds  who  find  in  a  rocky  nook  a  refuge  from 
the  ocean  storms.  "  Do  vou  think  the  Recollets  are  happy, 
De  I'ean  ?"  asked  he,  turning  abruptly  to  his  companion. 

"Happy  as  oysters  at  high  water,  wlio  are  never  crossed 
in  love,  except  of  their  dinner  !  Hut  that  is  neither  your 
luck  nor  mine,  Le  Gardeur!''  De  Pean  was  itching  to 
draw  from  his  companion  something  with  reference  to  what 
had  |)assed  with  Angelic[ue. 

■■Well,  I  would  rather  be  an  oyster  than  a  man,  and 
luhcr  he  dead  than  either!"  was  the  reply  of  Le  (rardeur. 
"How  soon,  think  you,  will  brandy  kill  a  man,  De  Pean.''" 
.id<e(l  he  abruptly,  after  a  pause  of  silence. 

"It  will  never  kill  you,  Le  Gardeur,  if  you  take  it  neat  at 
Master  Menut'b.  it  will  restore  you  to  life,  vigor,  and  inJe- 
pen  lence  of  man   and  woman.      1    take  mine  there  when  1 


264 


TIIK    COLDEX    DOG, 


am  hipped  as  you  are,  Le  (kiideur.  It  is  a  specific  for 
every  kind  of  ill-fortune,-—!  warrant  it  will  cure  and  iicvlt 
kill  you." 

They  crossed  the  Place  d' Amies.  Nothing  in  sij;ht  was 
moving  except  the  sentries  who  paced  slowly  like  shadow:, 
up  and  down  the  great  gateway  of  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis. 

"  It  is  still  and  solemn  as  a  church-yard  here,"  rcinarkd 
I)e  Pean  ;  ''all  the  life  of  the  place  is  down  at  Mcnui's! 
1  like  the  small  hours,"  added  he  as  the  chiiiie  of  the 
Recollets  ceased.  "  'I'hey  are  easily  counted,  and  j),i>b 
Cjuickly,  asleep  or  awake.  Two  o'clock  in  the  mornini;  is 
the  meridian  of  the  day  for  a  man  who  has  wit  to  wait  for 
it  at  Menut's  !  —  these  small  hours  are  all  that  arc  woinh 
reckoning  in   a   man's  life!" 

Without  consenting  to  accomjDany  I)e  Pean,  Lc  (laidciir 
suffered  himself  to  be  led  by  him.  He  knew  the  couijianv 
that  awaited  him  there  —  the  wildest  and  most  dis^oluic 
gallants  of  the  city  and  garrison  were  usually  asscinblal 
there  at  this  hour. 

The  famous  old  hostelr\  was  kept  by  Master  Mcniit.  a 
burly  Jjreton  who  prided  himself  01.  kjeping  excryiliiii;' 
full  and  plenty  about  his  house  —  tables  full,  tankards  fiii!, 
pvests  full,  and  himself  very  full.  The  house  was  lo-niuiit 
li'  up  with  unusual  brilliance,  and  was  full  of  company-- 
Cadet,  Varin,  Mercicr,  and  a  crowd  of  the  friends  and  asMj- 
ciates  of  the  Grand  Company.  Cand^ling,  drinking,  and 
conversing  in  the  loudest  strain  on  such  topics  as  intcrcsiLil 
their  class,  were  the  amusements  of  the  night.  The  vilest 
thoughts,  uttered  in  the  low  argot  of  l*aris,  were  much  aficc 
ted  by  them.  They  felt  a  pleasure  in  this  sort  of  pintc-: 
against  the  extreme  refmement  of  society,  just  a:,  liic 
collegians  of  Oxford,  trained  beyond  their  natural  capacity 
in  morals,  love  to  fall  into  slang  and,  like  Prince  Hal.  talk 
to  ever}-  tinker  in  his  own  tongue. 

I)e  Pean  and  Le  (}ardeur  were  welcomed  willi  Dpcii 
arms  at  the  Taverne  de  Menut.  A  dozen  brimming  i;iassi> 
were  offered  them  on  exery  side.  1  )e  l*ean  drank  iii'"!- 
erately.  "  I  have  to  win  back  my  los.ses  of  last  ni^iii. 
said  he,  "and  must  keep  my  iiead  clear."  Le  (laiclcui.  Imv 
ever,  refused  nothing  that  was  offered  hiiu.  He  diaiik  with 
all,     and    drank     every     description     of    licjuor.       IL. 


was 


THE    IIURRIIU)    OUKS'IIOX    OF    DESPAIR. 


265 


jneedily  led  up  into  a  large,  well-furnished  room,  wiiere 
ta!)lcs  were  crowded  with  gentlemen  playing  cards  and 
dice  tor  piles  of  paper  money,  which  was  tossed  from  liand 
tu  IkukI  with  the  greatest  nonchalance  as  the  game  ended 
and  was  renewed. 

I,L'  (lardeur  plunged  headlong  into  the  Hood  of  dissipa- 
tion. Ho  played,  drank,  talked  argot,  and  cast  off  every 
Miicd  of  reserve.  He  doubled  his  stakes,  and  threw  his 
dice  reckless  and  careless  whether  he  lost  or  won.  His 
\oice  o\erbore  that  of  the  stoutest  of  the  re\'ellers.  He 
embraced  I)e  Pean  as  his  friend,  who  returned  his  compli- 
ments by  declaring  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  to  he  the 
king  of  good  fellows,  who  had  the  "  strongest  head  to  carry 
wine  and  the  stoutest  heart  to  defy  dull  care  of  any  man 
ill  (Quebec." 

Dc  Pean  watched  with  malign  satisfaction  the  progress 
lit  Lc  Oardeur's  intoxication.  If  he  seemed  to  flair,  he 
thallenLi;ed  him  afresh  to  drink  to  better  fortune  ;  and  when 
lie  lost  the  stakes,  to  drink  again  to  spite  ill  luck. 

lint  let  a  veil  be  dropped  over  the  wild  doings  of  the 
Tavenie  de  Menut.  Le  Gardeur  lay  insensible  at  last 
upon  the  lioor,  where  he  would  have  remained  had  not 
some  of  the  servants  of  the  inn  who  knew  hini  lifted  him 
up  compassionately  and  placed  him  upon  a  couch,  where 
he  lay,  i)reathing  heavily  like  one  dying.  His  eyes  were 
i";xe(l:  his  mouth,  where  the  kisses  of  his  sister  still  lingered, 
was  |iartly  opened,  and  his  hands  were  clenched,  rigid  as  a 
sUilue's. 

"He  is  ours  now!"  said  De  Pean  t(j  Cadet.  "He  will 
Koi  ai^ain  put  his  head  under  the  wing  of  the  Philibertsl" 

riu;  two  men  looked  at  him,  and  laughed  brutally, 

"A  fair  lady  whom  \ou  know,  Cadet,  has  given  him 
lii»erly  to  drink   himself  to  death,  and   he  will  do  it." 

"Who  is  that?     Angelicjue  ?"  asked  Cadet. 

"Of  comse;  who  else?  and  Le  Gardeur  won't  be  the 
lir^t  or  last  man  she  has  put  under  stone  sheets,"  replied 
!'e  I'oaii.  with   a  sluug  of  his  shoulders. 

'' G/oriij  patri  Jilioqiic  !^^  exclaimed  Cadet,  mockingly; 
"the  lIoiniHcs  Grns  will  lose  their  trump  card.  How  did 
you  get  him  away  from  Pelmonl,  De  Pean?" 

""Ii,    ii    was    not    I!     Angelicjue    des    Meloises    set    the 


266 


Till-:    (JOLDICN     DUG. 


trap  and  whistled   the  call   that  brought   iiiiu,"  replied  \k 
I'ean. 

"  Like  her,  the  incomparable  witch  ! "  exclaimed  Cack-; 
with  a  hearty  laugh.  "She  would  lure  the  \er\'  tlcvil  tu 
play  her  tricks  instead  of  his  own.  She  would  beat  Satan 
at  his  best  game  to  ruin  a  man." 

"It  would  be  all  the  same,  ("adet,  1  fancy—  Satan  or  she! 
But  where  is  JJigot  ?     I  expected  him  here." 

"Uh,  he  is  in  a  tantrum  to-night,  and  would  not  come, 
That  piece  of  his  at  JJeaumanoir  is  a  thorn  in  his  llfsh.  and 
a  snow-ball  on  his  spirits.  She  is  taming  him.  15v  St, 
Cocutin  !    liigot  loves  that  woman!" 

"  I  told  you  that  before,  Cadet.  I  saw  it  a  month  ago.  and 
was  sure  of  it  on  that  night  when  he  would  not  bring  iicr  up 
to  show  her  to  us." 

"Such  a  fool,  l)e  Pean,  to  care  for  any  woman!  What 
will  Jiigot  do  with  her,  think  you?" 

"  How  should  1  know  ?  Send  her  adrift  some  fine  day 
I  suppose,  down  the  Riviere  du  Loup.  He  will,  if  he  is.i 
sensible  man.  He  dare  not  marry  any  woman  without 
license  from  La  Pompadour,  you  know.  'I'he  jolly  ti.yi- 
woman  holds  a  tight  rein  over  her  favorites.  Ilii'xjt  niav 
keep  as  many  women  as  Solomon  —  the  more  the  niciiier; 
but  woe  befall  him  if  he  marries  without  La  Ponipadoiir'^ 
consent !  They  say  she  herself  dotes  on  liigot,  —  that  is  the 
reason."  i)e  Pean  really  believed  that  was  the  reason: 
and  certainly  there  was  reason  for  suspecting  it. 

"  Cadet !  Cadet !  "  exclaimed  several  voices.  "  \'ou  are 
fined  a  basket  of  champagne  for  leaving  the  table." 

"Lll  pay  it,"  replied  he,  "and  double  it;  but  it  is  hot 
as  Tartarus  in  here.  1  feel  like  a  grilled  salmon."  And 
indeed,  Cadet's  broad,  sensual  face  was  red  and  glowiniias  j 
a  harvest  moon.  He  walked  a  little  unsteady  too.  and  h;? 
naturally  coarse  voice  sounded  thick,  but  his  liaid  biM-i 
never  gave  way  beyond  a  certain  point  under  an\'  (|uantity 
of  liciuor, 

"  I  am  going  to  get  some  fresh  air,"  said  he.     "  I  shall 
walk  as  far  as  the   Fleur  de-Lis.     They  never  go  to  bed  at  | 
that  jolly  old  inn." 

"1  will  go  with  you'."  "And  11"  exclaimed  a  dozen 
voices. 


THE    HURRIED    QUESTION    OK    DESPAIR. 


267 


a  lull  or  ;?iic! 


man !     \\\m 


••Coiiie  on  then  ;  we  will  all  go  to  the  old  dog-hole,  where 
thev  keep  the  best  brandy  in  (Quebec.  It  is  smuggled  of 
course,  but  that  makes  it  all  the  better." 

Mine  host  of  the  'I'averne  de  Menut  combatted  this 
opinion  of  the  goodness  of  the  liciuors  at  the  Meur-de-Lis. 
His  brandy  had  paid  the  King's  duties,  and  bore  the 
siuiip  of  the  Grand  Company,  he  said ;  and  he  ap- 
pealed to  every  gentleman  present  on  the  goodness  of  his 
liquors. 

Cadet  and  the  rest  took  another  round  of  it  to  please 
the  landlord,  and  sallied  out  with  no  little  noise  and  con- 
tusinii.  Some  of  them  struck  up  the  famous  song  which, 
bevond  all  others,  best  expressed  the  gay,  rollicking  spirit 
uf  the  l-renci  nation  and  of  the  times  of  the  old  regime  : 

'"Vivo  Henri  Quatre! 
Vive  le  Roi  vaillant ! 
Ce  diahle  a  (|iialre 
A  le  triple  talent, 
De  boire  et  de  battie, 
Et  d'etre  un  vert  galant !  '  " 

When  the  noisy  party  arrived  at  the  Fleur-de-Lis,  they 
enicrcd  without  ceremony  into  a  spacious  room  —  low,  with 
heavy  beams  and  with  roughly  plastered  walls,  which  were 
^tuck  over  with  proclamations  of  governors  and  intendants 
and  dingy  ballads  brought  by  sailors  from  French  ports. 

A  long  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room  was  surrounded 
by  a  lot  of  fellows,  plainly  of  the  baser  sort, -- sailors,  boat- 
nii'ii,  voyageurs,  —  in  rough  clothes,  and  tucjues  —  red  or 
blue,  upon  their  heads.  Every  one  had  a  pipe  in  his  mouth. 
•Simie  were  talking  with  loose,  loquacious  tongues;  some 
WL-re  singing;  their  ugly,  jolly  visages — half  illumined  by 
the  light  of  tallow  candles  stuck  in  iron  .sconces  on  the 
wall  were  worthy  of  the  vulgar  but  faithful  Dutch  pencils 
ot  Schalken  and  'I'eniers.  'I'hey  were  singing  a  song  as  the 
ii(-'\v  company  came  in. 

At  ijic  head  of  the  table  sat  Master  Pothier,  with  a 
black  earthen  mug  of  Nornian  cider  in  one  hand  and  a  pipe 
'II  the  other.  PI  is  luidgot  of  law  hung  on  a  peg  in  the 
corner,  as  cjuite  suiierlluous  at  a  free-and-easy  at  the  Fleur- 
de-lis. 

Max  (irimeau   and   Blind    Ikutemy  had   arrived  in  good 


^. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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A 


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^ 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


21    12.5 


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lU 


U4 


1.4 


2.0 


1.6 


//, 


e. 


'^^. 


.V 


/a 


V 


/A 


Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


33  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

WnSTIR.N.Y.  MSSO 

(716)  •73-4503 


'^A 

^A^ 


26cS 


Till':  G(jlui:n   not; 


time  for  the  eel  pie.     They  sat  one  on  each  side  of  Ma>'a' 
I'othier,  full  as  ticks  and  merry  as  i;riL;s;   a  jolly  chorus  w 
in  i^ro^ress  as  C'adet  entered. 

'Ihe  company  rose  and  bowed  to  the  ^entkiiKii  vi. 
had  honored  them  with  a  call.  "  I'lay  sit  ddwii.  '^^m]^ 
men;  take  our  chairs!"  exclaimed  Master  I'oihiei.  ,,11;. 
cicnisly  offering  his  to  Cadet,  who  accepted  it  as  will  ,h 
the  black  mug,  of  which  he  drank  heartil}-,  declaring  i.a 
i\(jrman  cider  suited  his  taste  belter  than  the  ( lioict^: 
wine. 

"We  are  your  most  humble  servitors,  and  highly  e^iicii, 
the  honor  of  your  visit,"  said  Master  I'olhier.  as  he  niillp. 
the  black  mug. 

"Jolly  fellows!"  replied  Cadet,  stretching  lu^  li.„. 
refreshingly,  "this  does  look  comfortable.  1  )o  vuu  dlin^ 
cider  because  you  like  it,  or  because  you  cannot  alinru 
better  ?  " 

"There  is  nothing  better  than  Norman  cider,  excej; 
Cognac  brandy,"  rei)lied  Master  I'othier,  grinning  frmii 
ear  to  ear.  "  Norman  cider  is  fit  for  a  king,  and  with  ,1 
lining  of  brantly  is  think  for  a  Pope  !  It  will  make  a  iiia:i 
see  stars  at  noonday.     Won't  it,  Bartemy  ^  " 

"What!  old  tuin-jDenny !  are  you  here?"  cried  CaiRi, 
recognizing  the  old  beggar  of  the  gate  of  the  Hasse  \  illc 

"Oh,  yes,  your   Honor!"   replied    Hartemy,  with   lii>  pn 
fessional   whine,  ^' pour  /\n)it)ur  </r  Dicii  !'' 

"(lad!  you  are  the  jolliest  beggar  I  know  out  of  liic 
l-'riponne,"  replied  Cadet,  throwing  him  a  crown. 

"He   is  not   a  jollier  beggar   than    1    am,   your    Ildiini. 
said     Max    (Irimeau.    grinning    like     an     .\lsaiian    'Aei   .i 
Strasbourg  jjic.     "it  was  I   sang  bass  in  the  ballad  a^  yni; 
came  in       you  might  \\\\\v  heard  me,  your  Hcjnor?  ' 

"To  be  sure  I  did;  I  will  be  sworn  there  is  not  a  jntlitt 
beggar  in  (^)uebec  than  you,  old  Max!  Here  is  a  iiowntor 
you  too,  to  (.Irink  the  Intendant's  health  ;ind  ;iniilhfi  Icr 
you,  you  roving  limb  of  the  law.  Master  rothiia  '  i  miii'. 
Master  I'othier!  1  will  till  your  ragged  gown  lull  a>  ' 
demijohn  of  brandy  if  you  will  go  on  with  the  miiij^  yoi; 
were  singing." 

"We  wer'3  at  the  old  ballad  of  the  Pont  ^/V/rvV //'"'.  your 
Honor,"  replied  Master  I'olhier. 


Till':    llLKKli:i>    (Jl'KSllON    or    DKSI'AIK. 


269 


i  ui  Ma.v,- 
choru^  \\\i> 

tlL'lllL'll    v.i, 

'oiliicr.  ..i:;- 

a^  well  ,h 

L'clalill^  n.i, 

:lu'    (  hiiicf^'. 

s  he  iL'tillci: 

^  his  k-.- 
0  \ou  diiiu 
\ini()l    .itli'Vu 

•idei'.  t'.\cc|; 
iiminu;  fi'uiii 
,  ami  wilh  ,1 
make  a  iua;i 

:rit.'(l  Caik'l. 
<se  \'ilk'. 
ilh   hi>  lip- 

oiil   of  !':■• 

vn. 

)ur    IIdhiii. 
ian     'iviT  .i 
allail  a->  yi: 
ii  : ' 

not  a  ji'llk'! 
a  ( rnwu  till' 
aniithrr  l"i 
i^.l  '  ( 'nine, 
11  lull  as  .i 
11'  soiitj;  yi'ii 


Ami    I    was    playin.2;    it."    intt'rni|K'(l   Joan    La    Marche 


•vou  iiiiuht  have   heard  my  xiolin.  il  is  a  i^ood  one 


can 


won 


1(1  not  hide  his  tatciU  in  a  nai)kin  on  so  ausi)ici<)us  an 


(11 


casion   as 


th 


navcH 


laf 


c\v 


IS. 

ars. 


He    ran    his   !)()\v  over  the   slriniis  and 


that 


was 


the  I 


nne.  vou 


r  H 


onor. 


.\\.  that   was    it!    I    know  the  jolly  old   soi 


\ 


ow 


M) 


Oil 


Cadet  thrust  his  thiinihs  into  the  annholcs  of  his 
j,K\'(l  waistcoat  and  listenetl  attentixely  ;  rouj^h  as  he  was.  he 
iikal  the  old  Canadian  music. 

lean  tuned  his  tiddle  airesh,  and  i)lacini;  it  with  a  know- 
;n;i  je'ik  under  his  chin,  and  with  an  air  of  conceit  worthy  of 
Lulli,  he^an  to  sinjj;  and  play  the  old  ballad: 

A  St.  Mall),  l)Lau  port  di;  im,r. 


'I'roi 


s  iKiviix's  sont  arrives, 


IIUU 


Charnes  (ravoine.  eliarnes  dc  hied  ; 
'I'rois  ikunes  s'eii  vont  ks  niurLluuulur ! '  " 

exclaimed    Varin,    "who    cares    for    things   that 
VL'  no  more   jioint  in   them   than   a  dmniilin^Li;  I  gi\e  us  a 
liiiial.  or   one   of   the   devil's   ditties   from    the   (Hiartier 


ul 


„uin 


1  do  not  know  a  'devil's  ditty,'  and  would  not  sinjj;  one 
1  dill."  replied   Jean    La   Marche,  jealous  of  the  ballads 
ranee.     "  Indians  cannot  swear  because 
and    habitans     cannot    sin<r    devil's 


hi 


own 


.\ 


ew 


:icv   know    no    o 


1^ 

aths 


|iiiuics  because    they   ne\er    learnetl    them;    but   'A'/.  Malo, 
VI  port  dc  mcr^"  —  1  will  sinj;  that  with  any  man   in  the 

iiMlony:" 

rile  popular  sonf];s  of  the  French  Canadians  are  simple, 


.iimo>t 


antnie. 


in   tl 


leir    lanuiiaire,    and    as  c 


hast 


e    in   I'x- 


[pri'ssion  as  the  hynnis  of  other  countries.       Impure  sonij;s 
|iri;4inate  in  classes  who  know  better,  and  re\el   from  choice 
[iniiuisical  slanj;-  and  indecency. 

"Sin^  what  you  like!    and  never   mind   X^arin.  my  ^ood 


•kmw. 


said    Cadet,    stretchinii    himself    in    his    (hair 


I 


likt:  the  old  Canadian  ballads  better  than  all  the  devil's 
ditties  ever  made  in  Paris  !  Vou  must  sini;-  your  devil's  ditties 
Viiirself.  \'arin  ;  our  habitans  won"!,       that  is  sure!" 

cr  an  hour's  roysteriiiLi  at  the  I'leur-de-Lis  the  paity  of 


Aft 


Igentlenien  returned  to  the  Taverne  de   Menul  a  j^ood  deal 
/,•/•;/"/,  your  ■I'!!"''-'  unsteady  and  more  obstreperous  than  when  they  came. 
■  'ifv  left    Master    Pothier    seated    in    his   chair,   drunk    as 


270 


THK    (;()F.I)i:\     DOC. 


Hacchus,  and  every  one  of  the  rest  of  his  companions  Mind 
as  l>artein}\ 

The  gentlemen,  on  their  return  to  the  Taverne  i\v  W^ur. 


found    De   I 'can   in   a   ra< 


'lerre 


liilibert   had   t 


"llowcil 


AmeHe  to  the  city,  and  learning  the  cause  of  her  aiixitiv  m. 
unconcealed  tears,  started  off  with  the  determination  i  .  lin, 


Le  (lardeur. 


The  officer  of  the  guard  at  the  gate  of  the    I 


ia^ 


\- 


\\ 


as  able  to  direct  him  to  the  right  (|uarler.  He  hasUikd 
to  the  Ta\erne  de  Menut,  and  in  haughty  defiance  of  \k 
Pean,  with  whom  he  had  high  words,  he  got  the  iiiifortu 
nate   Le  (lardeur  away,  placed  him   in  a  carriage.  a;i(l  to^k 

ll.Ui- 


lim   home,  receiving  from   Amelie   such   sweet   and 
thanks  as  he   thought  a  life's  service   could   scarcely 
deserved. 

"/')-/-   /^A7/ /  that    Philibert   is   a   game-cock,    \)v    IVmh 
exclaimed  ('adet,  to  the  saxage  annoyance  of  the  Scrui, 
"  He  has  pluck  and  impudence  for  ten  ,j,'v^-'v/y  i///  toi-p^. 
\vas  neater  done  than  at  iJeaumanoir !"     (!adet  sat  down 
enjoy  a  broad  laugh  at  the  expense  of  his  friend  over 
seconc 


irv. 


Mir; 


id  carrying  oif  of  Le  (lardeur, 

"(Airse  him!   I  could  have  run  him  through,  and  am 
I  did  not,"  exclaimed  De  Pean. 

"  No,  you  could  not  liave  run  him  through,  and  nou  w 
have  been  sorry  had  you  tried  it,  1  )e  Pean,"  replied  (ad 


OUiu 


That   Philibert  is  not   as  safe   as   the    Hank   ot    Ir.i 


ncc 


draw  upon.  I  tell  you  it  was  well  for  yourself  you  tjid  inu 
try,  De  Pean.  IJut  never  mind,"  continued  ("adet.  "llicrois 
never  so  bad  a  day  l)ut  there  is  a  fair  to-morrow  atkr  it.  >o 
make  up  a  hand  at  cards  with  me  and  Colonel    Tiivio,  ami 


put  money  in  your  purse;  it  will  salve 


your  1 


)ruise{l  l(,'L'lin^>. 


De  Pean  finleil  to  laugh  off  his  ill  humor,  but  he  to(»'K  ( 
advice,  and  sat  clown  to  play  for  the  remainder  of  ilic 


aik-: 


"  1  ilo  kno' 

sn  l^CtR'roUS 

>iic  ^itrm'e  t( 
nwmciit  in  vt 
••  lilame  yo 
for  being  g(j< 
dour      we  m 
liir  a  while. 
vi>it  the  Mar 
jx  (Jardeur  t< 
"A  visit  t( 
iidi.ulu  Le  (ia 
that  hind  him 
Tlu'.se  were 
how  dcligiiifu 
■All  the  pf 
.!>  will  your  c 
I  dcii  access  of 
[arc.  and  — " 
"The  love  1 
[tunes  die  whe 
[.Mill  this,  but 
Ixni  overbold 
She  l)lushe( 
I"' Hi.  1  am  so 
kave  him.   as 
[never  cli,,  ed 
:'ifrre  I'hilibe 
[Woman's  \o\c, 
|>i.ince  of  (hos 
!ii<t'  a  break  ii 
K\<*»(1;  and 


"Oh,  Pierre   Philibert,  how  can  we  sulliciently  thank  y;; 
for    your    kindness    to    my    dear,    unhappy   brother  ?"  sid 
Amelie  to  him,  her  eyes  tremulous  with  tears  and  herh.in.  1 
convulsively  clasping  his,  as  Pierre  took  leave  of  lu  r  at  the 
door  of  the  mansion  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly. 

"  Le  (lardeur  claims  our  deepi'st  commiseration.  Ameln', 
replied  he;   "you  know  how  this  has  happened.'  "" 


THK    IILKKIKI)    OUKSTIOX    OF    l)i:si'AIK. 


inidlls    |i,in,; 

e  ck-  Mciiir, 

liid  lollowt-; 

nnxifiy  ,i;i.. 

;\lion  1 1  tin.i 

llas.c  Vii;,: 
tic  li;i sidled 
lamH:  of  \k 
the  unfoiiu 
L;t'.  a;i(l  lunk 

and  -iiu'cR' 
uarccly  luvu- 

,    \h'    \\:\v.: 
10  SiTVi'larv. 

,///    (V)/-/v.      It 

sal  down  ii 
eiul  nvcr  the 


so 


I  tlo  know,  IMerre,  and  shame  to  know  it.      T>ut  you  are 
Uo  not  blame  me  for  this  aiiitation  !  " 


Tfiierous  ever. 


ul  von  wdiiiu 
died  (';uk 
)t  l'"rana'  'ji 
\-()U  dill  wk 
et.  "lhi'iv;> 
w  after  it.  Ml 
Tiivio.  aiiil 

M'd  trclin^v" 
tdoi^  Cuie;'^ 
(if  die  ni:i''- 


>jic  strove  to  steady  herself,  as  a  ship  will  right  up  for  a 
nioiiicnt  in  veering. 

•  lilame  you  !  what  a  thought !  As  soon  blame  the  angels 
for  lioiiiL;  g(xxl !  Hut  I  have  a  plan,  Amelie,  for  Le  (iar- 
(ieur      ue   must  get  him  out  of  the  citv  and  back  to  'i'illv 


II ir  ;i  Willie. 


\ 


our  n 


obi 


e  aunt  has  is\\(in  me  an  uivitation  to 


visit  the  Manor  House.  What  if  I  manage  to  accompany 
],(.  (lardcur  to  his  dear  old  home  .''  " 

•A  visit  to  Tilly  in  yoiw  company  woidd.  of  all  things, 
ildi;'lu  Le  (iardeur,"  said  she,  "and  ])erhaps  break  those  lies 
ih.ii  l)iiul  him  to  the  city." 

Tlu'.>>o  were  pleasing  words  to   IMiilibert,  and  he  thought 


(leliglitful  would  be  her  own  fair  presence  also  at  Tilly. 

All  the  physicians  in  the  world  will  not  help  Le  (Iardeur 

ill  your  company  at  Tilly!"  exclaimed  she,  with  a  sud- 

jdcii  access  of  hope.     "  Le  (iardeur  needs  not  medicine,  only 

Icarc.  and  — " 

'The  love  he  has  set  his  heart  on,  Ameliel      Men  some- 
times die  when  they  fail  in  that."      He  looked  at  her  as  he 
and  am  surrv  H'-'iiil  tlii-S  but  instantly  withdrew  his  eyes,   fearing   he   had 
Ibirii  overbold. 

She  blushed,  and  only  replied,  with  absolute  indirection, 

■(»h.  I  am  so  thankful  to  you,  Pierre   IMiilibert!"      Hut  she 

;.ue  him,  as   he   left,  a   look  of   gratitude   and  love  which 

[never  eff.u  ed  itself  from  his  memory.      In  after-years,  when 

i'iiire  Philibert  cared  not  for  the  light  of  the  sun,  nor  for 

|\vniiK\n's  love,    nor   for   life    itself,   tlie   tender,   impassioned 

jlince  of  those  dark  eyes  wet  with  tears  came  back  to  him 

like  a  break  in  the  dark  clouds,  disclosing  the  blue  heaven 

Ibevond;  and  he  longed  to  be  there. 


\  thank  y: 
nlier?"  nv. 
uul  her  li.iiii 

)f  her  at  ihi- 


ion.  Anielic, 


CHAPTKR    XXV. 


BETWIXT     IHK    LAST    VIOl.KI'    AND     IIIK    KAKMESI     K(i>E. 


D 


()  nol  _i;<)  out  to-day,  brother,  I   want  you  so  partini 
larly  to  stay  with  me  to-day,"  said  Aiiiclic  (K 


tigny,  with  a  gentle,  iJicachni;'  \oice. 


Aunt  lias  re; 


■   l\eiirn- 


return  to  Tilly  to-nionow  ;  I  need  your  help  to  arrauLic  llicsc 
papers,    rnd   anyway,  1  want  your  company,  brotiicr,  '  aildcd 


sne,  sain  HI 


Ins    will! 


a  lid 


Le  (lardeur  sat  feverish,  nervous,  and  ill  after 
night  spent  at  the  Taxerne  de  Menut.  He  starietl 
reddened  as  his  sister's  eyes  rested  on  him.  lie  lookoi 
through  the  open  window  like  a  wild  animal  ready  tu 
spring  out  of  it  and  escape. 

A  raging  thirst  was  on  iiim,  which  Amelie  sought  t) 
assuage  by  draughts  of  water,  milk,  and  tea  a  >istei';v 
attention  which  he  more  than  once  acknowledged  hv  ki^.^in,' 
the  loving  lingers  which  waited  upon  him  so  tendeily. 

"1  cannot  stay  in  the  house,  Amelie,''  said  he:  "I  >h,. 
go  mad  if  1  do  !     Vou  know  how  it  has  fared  with  me.  swcci 
sister  !     I    yesterday   built    up    a    tower    of    glass.   hi'j,li  ,;- 
heaven,  my  iieaven       a  woman's  love;  to-day  I  am  ( ri,,^lial 
under  the  ruins  of  it." 

"  Say  not  so,  brother !  you  were  not  made  to  be  cru>hni 
by   the   nay   of  any   faithless   woman.     Oh  !   why 


lllr: 


think  more  of  our  sex  than  we  deserve 


H 


ow    tew  (it 


do  deserve  the  devotion  of  a  uood  and  true  man 


re  pi 
A  me 


How  few  men  would  be  worthy  of  you,  sweet   si: 


kT 


led 


lie! 


prout 


Uy, 


Ah!  had  Ange'Iitpie  had  your  hc> 


Yo 


u    w 


ill    be    glad    one    day    of    your    prese 


ni 


ri'ow, 


brother,"  replied  she.  "  It  is  jjitter  I  know,  and  I  let,!  it^ 
bitterness  with  you,  but  life  with  Angelique  would  lM\elHrii 
infinitely  harder  to  bear." 

He   shook   his   iiead,    not   incredulously,  but  deli.uuh  a; 

272 


HKTWIXI'    THE    VIOLKT    AND     Illl,     KOSl-:. 


^73 


t,ui.  '  I  would  have  acceptotl  it,"  said  he,  "  had  I  been 
-.lire  lite  with  her  had  been  hard  as  millstones  !  My  love  is 
of  ilic  perverse  kind,  not  to  be  transmuted  by  any  furnace  of 
rit-ry  trial."' 

•1  have  no  answer,  brother,  but  this:"  and  Amc'lie 
>tuopL'il  and  kissed  his  fevered  forehead.  She  was  too  wise 
It)  rea^oii  in  a  case  where  she  knew  reason  always  made 
default. 

•What  has  happened  at  the  Manor  House,"  a.sked  he 
afitr  a  short  silence,  "  that  aunt  is  going  to  return  home 
viDiier  than  she  expected  when  she  left  .-'  " 

•There  are  reports  to-day  of  Iroquois  on  the  upper  C'hau- 
dicrc,  and  her  irnsifiiircs  are  eager  to  return  to  guard  their 
liomes  from  the  prowling  savages;  and  what  is  more,  you 
.iiul  Colonel  I'hilibert  are  ordered  to  go  to  Tilly  to  look  after 
liiL' defence  of  the  Seigniory." 

Lc  (lardeur  sat  bolt  upright.  His  military  knowledge 
cmikl  not  comprehend  an  apparently  useless  order.     "  Pierre 

ilihcrt  and  I  ordered  to  Tilly  to  look  after  the  defence  of 

' 'JiL' Seigniory  !     We  had  no  information  yesterday  that  Iro- 

ijiiois  were  within  fifty  leagues  of  'I'illy.      It  is  a  false  rumor 

raised  by  the  good  wives  to  get  their  husbands  Ikjuic  again  ! 

I'oii't  you  think  so,  Amelie  .-"'  asked  he,  smiling  for  the  first 

I  lime. 

•'\o,  I  don't  think  so,  Le  Gardeur  !  but  it  would  be  a 
i  pretty /7/,»v'  uc  i^itcrrc,  were  it  true.  The  good  wives  naturally 
I  feel  nervous  at  being  left  .alone — I  should  my.self,"  added 
'  e.  playfully. 

•Oh,  I  don't  know;  I  the  nervous  ones  have  ail  come  with 
I  the  men  to  the  city  ;  but  I  suppose  the  works  are  sutTiciently 
.KKaiiced.  and  the  men  can  be  spared  to  return  home.  Hut 
Ivluit  says  Pierre   Philibert  to  the  order  despatching  him  to 

ly  ?     \()u  have  seen   him   since?" 

Amelie  blushed  a  little  as  she  replied,  "  Ves,  \  have 
iHTii  him:  he  is  well  content,  I  think,  to  see  Tilly  once 
liiimv  in  }()ur  conip;iny,   brother. " 

"And  in  yours,  sister!  Why  blush,  ^^  .nelie  ?  Pierre  is 
jwonhy  oi  yoii^  should  he  e\er  say  to  you  what  I  so  vainly 
jwid  last  ni^jit  to  Angelicjue  des  Meloises  ! "  Le  (lardeur 
li^'id  her  lighilv  bv  the  hand. 

llerlaie  was  glowdng  scarlet,       she  was  in  utter  confusion. 


274 


IHK   i.<»i.i>i:\    not; 


"Oh.  stop,  lnothei  I  Don't  say  such  thin;;s  !  ricririiiMr 
uttered  such  thoughts  to  me!  —  never  will,  in  all  likuli 
hood  I  " 

"  Hut  he  will  !  And,  my  darlin*;  sister,  when  I'ienr  \%', 
ibert  shall  say  he  loves  you  and  asks  you  to  he  lii>  wilf,  i; 
you  love  iiim,  if  you  pity  me,  do  not  say  him  nay!"  Shf 
was  tremblinj;  with  agitation,  and  without  power  lo  re]iiv. 
Hut  Le  (iardeur  felt  her  hand  tighten  upon  his.  lie  (.im- 
prehended  the  involuntary  sign,  drew  her  to  him,  kissed  lit.r, 
and  left  the  topic  without  pressing  it  further;  leaviiiL,'  it  in 
the  most  formidable  shape  to  take  deep  root  in  tlic  >ilcn; 
meditations  of  AmcMie. 

The  rest  of  the  day  passed  in  such  sunshine  as  Aiiu  lie 
could  throw  over  her  brother.  Her  soft  influence  ret.iincfi 
him  at  home  :  she  refreshed  him  with  her  conversation  .iin; 
sympathy,  drew  from  him  the  pitiful  story  of  his  lo\e  and  \i> 
bitter  ending.  She  knew  the  relief  of  disburdening'  iii> 
surcharged  heart ;  and  to  none  but  his  sister,  from  u  hoiii  lu 
had  never  had  a  secret  until  this  episode  in  his  lite,  would 
he  have  spoken  a  word  of  his  heart's  trouble. 

Numerous  were  the  visitors  to-day  at  the  hospitable 
mansion  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly ;  but  Le  (lardeur  would  hi 
none  of  them  e.xcept  Pierre  I'hilibert,  who  rocK'  over  ,b 
soon  as  he  was  relieved  from  his  militarv  atteiul.uice  a; 
the  Castle  of  St.  Louis. 

Le  Gardeur  received  IMerre  with  an  effusion  of  'natefui 
affection  —  touching,  because  real.  His  handsome  face,  si 
like  Amelie's,  was  peculiarly  so  when  it  expressed  the  eim- 
tions  habitual  to  her;  and  the  pleasure  both  fell  in  the 
presence  of  Pierre  brought  out  resemblances  that  tla,shc>: 
fresh  on  the  quick,  observant  eye  of  Pierre. 

The  afternoon  was   spent   in    con\'ersation    of  tiial  kin* 
which   gives  and  takes  with  mutual  delight.      Le  (laideir 
seemed  more  his  old  self  again  in  the  company  of  I'iem 
Amdlie  was  charmed  at  the  visible  influence  of  Pierre  dvirl 
him,  and  a  hope   sprang   up  in   her   bosom    that  the  liuln 
artifice  of  beguiling  Le  Gardeur  to  Tilly  in  the  conipanicn- 
ship  of  Pierre  might  be  the  means  of  thwarting  those  adj 
verse  influences  which  were  dragging  him  to  dostiuctidii. 

If  Pierre  Philibert  grew  more  animated  in  the  presence! 
of  those  bright  eyes,  which  were  at  once  appreciative  and! 


[ii:T\vi\i    riiK  vioi.Ki    .\M>    riiK   kosk. 


^75 


lillC    ( 

:re\v 


itliizinj;,  Amclie  drank  in  the  C()n\c'rsali()n  of  I'ienc  .i> 


Iritiks    the    wine   of   a   favorite    vinta; 


If    her    heart 


A  Hltie  intoxicated,  what  the  wonder?  I'urtivelv  as 
she  lil'inced  at  the  manly  countenance  of  I'ierre.  she  saw  in 
It  the  retlection  of  his  noble  mind  and  independent  spirit  ; 
.ind  re!uenil)ering  the  injunction  of  I-e  (lardeur.  for, 
womaii-Hke,  she   sought  a  support  out  of  herself  to  justify 


,i  torciione  conclusion, 


she  thou^iht    that    if    I'ierre   asked 


her  she  could  be  content  to  share  his  lot,  and  her  greatest 
happiness  would  be  to  live  in  the  possession  of  his  love. 

Pierre  I'hilibert  t(;ok  his  departure  early  from  the  house 
lit  the  Lady  de  Tilly,  to  make  his  preparations  for  leaving 
the  city  next  day.       His  father  was  aware  of  his  project,  and 


ap!)r 


oved  of  it. 


n 


The  toils  of  the  day  were  over  in  the  house  of  the  (hie 
|()r.     The  Ilourjieois  took  his  hat  and  sword  and  went  out 


ilk 


tl 


t(ir  ;i  walk   upon   the   cape,  wnere  a  cool   freeze  came   u[) 
tre>h  from  the  broad  river.      It  was   iust  the  turn  of  tide. 


ne 


full. 


brnummir  waters,  rt 


Hecti 


iniT  Here  an 


d  tl 


lere 


star, 


ix\:;;in 

m,ije> 


10  sparkle  under  the  clear  moon  thiU  rose  slowly  and 

-.lically  over  the  hills  of  the  south  shore. 

The  bourgeois  sat  down  on  the  low  wall  of  the  terrace 

eiijciy   the    freshness    and    beauty    of    the    scene   which, 

ia:thouj;h    he    had    seen   it   a  hundred    times    before,   never 

kcd   lovelier,  he    thouirht,  than    this    e\enin<i.      He  was 


00 


[very  luippy    in    his   silent    thoughts    over   bis    son's    return 
hniiic;  and  the  general  respect  paid  him  on  the  day  of  his 

licic  h;ul  been  more  felt,  perhaps,  by  the   iSourgeois  than  by 
'icire  himself. 
As  he  iiuIulLred   in  these  nieditnti(^ns,  a  well-known  voice 


wi 


lien IV    accosted 


him.       He    turned    and    was    cordially 
LTccted  l)v  the  (  ount  de  la  (lalissoniere  and    Herr   Kalm, 


hwio  hiul 


.^au 


nlered  throuirh  the  <rarden  of  the  Castle  and 


|direclt.'il  their  steps   towards  the  ca 


11 1)1 


pe  with  intention  to  call 
'11  tile  Lady  de    Tilly  and   pay  their  respects  to  her  before 


Mie  ie 


ftth 


e  citv, 


rile  lioiu'geois.  learning  their  intentions,  said  he  would 
h'toiupany  I  hem,  as  he  too  owed  a  debt  of  courtesy  to  the 
(niiMo  la(l\  and  her  niece  Amelie,  which  he  would  discharge 
|iU  the  same  lime. 

The  three  gentlemen  walked  gravely  on,  in  pleasant  con- 


276 


iiii".   (ioi.Di:: 


!)(){, 


versation.  The  clearness  of  the  moonlit  nii^ht  tlinw  the 
beautiful  landscape,  with  its  strongly  accenluatc'd  ttj.iuiro, 
xnU)  contrasts  of  light  and  shade  to  whicii  liie  |a;niil  nf 
Renibraiult  alone  could  liavc  done  justice.  Heir  K.ilm  ,\,i, 
enthusiastic  in  ids  ailiniration,  moonlight  o\'er  I  )ra(  Ik.hiV;, 
on  the  Khine,  or  the  midnight  sun  peering  ov'cr  the  CvM  ,,i 
Hothnia.  reminded  him  of  something  similar,  but  ot  iioihinjr 
so  grand  on  the  whole  as  the  matchless  scene  \i.sil»lc'  troii: 
Cape   Diamond       worthy  of  its  name. 

Lady  de  Tilly  received  her  visitors  with  tlu-  grai  im^ 
courtesy  habitual  to  her.  She  especially  api^reci.itiii  thi. 
visit  frt)m  the  Hourgeois,  who  so  r.irelv  honored  the  ll(lUM^ 
of  his  friends  by  his  welcome  [presence.  .\s  for  Ills  I'.xci' 
lency,  she  remarked,  smiling,  it  was  his  otticial  dutv  to 
represent  the  ])oliteness  of  France  to  the  ladies  of  liic 
Colony,  while  Herr  Kalm,  representing  the  scicm  e  m 
Fanope,  ought  to  be  honored  in  e\ery  house  he  chose  to 
visit,  —she  certainly  esteemed  the  honor  of  his  preiencein 
lier  own. 

Amelie  made  her  appearance  in    the  drawing-room,  an: 
while   the  visitors   stayed  exerted  herself  to  the   utmost  1 1 
please  and  interest  them  by  taking  a  ready  and  synipatiieii 
part  in  tlieir  conversation.      Her  quick  and  cultivated  inti 
lect  enabled  her  to  do  so  to  the  delight,  and  even  .suiprix'. 
of  the  three  gra\'e,  learned  gentlemen.     She  lacked  iieitliirj 
information  nor  opinicMis  of  her  own,  while  her  six'ech.  soft 
and  womanly,  gave  a  delicacy  to  her  free  yet  modest  iiitc:- 
ances  that  made    her,  in    their  recollections    of    her  in  liic 
future,   a    standard    of  comparison,  —  a   measure  of  fciiii/j 
perfections. 

Le  (lardeur,  learning  who  were  in  the  house,  came  dow: 
after  a  while  to  thank  the  (Governor,  the  i)Ourgeoi\  an: 
Herr  Kalm  for  the  honor  of  their  visit.  He  exerted  hiiii.Hi 
by  a  desperate  effort  to  be  conversable,  -  not  \eiv  mi  re^yi 
fully,  however;  for  had  not  Amelie  watched  him  with  (krptst 
sympathy  and  adroitly  Idled  the  breaks  in  his  remarks  In- 
would  have  failed  to  pass  himself  creditably  hetoic  tun 
Governor,  As  it  was,  Le  (iardeur  contented  himself  with 
following  the  How  of  conversation  which  welled  up  (-opiou.-iyl 
from  the  lips  of  the  rest  of  the  company. 

After  a   while  came  in    i'V'Iix    IJaudoin   in    his  full  liven. 


i;i:t\vixi'    iiiM   \ioLi:'i"  and    iiik  rosk. 


'/  / 


)f    her  in  liKJ 
re   of  feiii..'-: 


reserved  for  sijcci.il  occasions,  and  announced  to  liis  lad\" 
ih.il  le.i  was  served.  The  ij;entlemen  were  invited  to  partaki' 
uf  wlial  was  then  a  ncjvelty  in  Xew  France.  The  l>our^eoi>. 
in  the  course  of  the  new  traffic  with  China  that  had  hitely 
Miriiiin  up  in  consequence  of  the  disccnery  (^f  ^^insenj;  in 
\c\v  hrance,  had  imported  some  chests  of  tea,  which  the 
l„uh  lie  Tilly,  with  instinctive  perception  of  its  utility, 
uloptetl  at  once  as  the  beverage  of  polite  society.  As  yet, 
ci,  it   was  only  to  be    seen    uj)on  the   tables    of    the 


r.ii\ve\ 
rctincil 


and  the  aflluent. 


A  fine  service  of  porcelain  of  Chinese  make  adorned  her 
uhlo,  pleasing  the  fancy  with  its  grotesque  pictures,  -then 
vMiL'A,  now  so  familiar  to  us  all.     The  Chinese  irarden  and 


.'alllmer-hou^.e, 


l.ilV 


the  fruit-laden  trees,  and  ri\er  with  o\er- 
jing  willows;  the  rustic  bridge  with  the  three  long-robed 
::iie.s  i)assing  over  it;  the  boat  floating  upon  the  water 
111  the  doves  flying  in  the  perspectiveless  sky  —  wiio  does 
H  remember  them  all  .^ 

Lady  de  Tilly,  like  a  true  gentlewoman,  prized  her  china, 
thought  kindly  of  the  mild,  industrious  race  who  iiad 
shed  her  tea-table  with  such  an  elegant  e(iui|)age. 


,111(1 


rill; 


li  was  no  disparagement  to  the  Lady  de  Tilly  that  she 
li.ui  not  read  Knglish  poets  who  sang  the  praise  (if  tea  : 
Kn;4'.isli  poets  were  in  those  days  an  unknown  cjuantity  in 
licnch  education,  and  especially  in  Xew  l'"rance  until  after 
liir  coiHiuest.  i)Ut  Wolfe  opened  the  great  workl  of  Knglish 
piictry  to  Canada  as  he  recited  Gray's  Klegy  with  its  pro- 
lilietic  line,  — 

"  Tlie  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  tlie  grave," 

b  lie  lioated  down  the  St.  Lawrence  in  that  still  autum- 
ii.il  niL,dit  to  land  ins  forces  and  scale  by  stealth  the  fatal 
Heights  of  Abraham,  whose  possession  letl  to  the  contpiest 
1 01  die  city  and  his  own  heroic  death,  then  it  was  the  t\v(.) 
i^'!urious  streams  of  modern  thought  and  literature  united  in 
Niw  France,  where  they  have  run  side  by  side  to  this  day, — 
in  time  to  be  united  in  one  grand  Hood  stream  of  Canadian 
literature. 

rile   bourgeois    I'hilibert  had  exported   largely  to  China 

[the  newly  discovered  ginseng,  for  which  at  first   the   people 

"1  the  llowery  kingdom  paid,  in  their  sycee  sil\  er,  oiime  for 


278 


TIIK    (.ol.DI.N    DOG. 


ounce.  And  his  ( 'atitoncse  correspondent  esteemed  liiniu'! 
dcnihly  fortunate  when  he  was  enabled  to  export  hi^  (  Ikmccsi 
teas  to  \e\v  l""rance  in  exehanL;e  for  the  i)reeious  root. 

Anie'he  listened  to  an  eai^er  etjnversation  belwien  the 
(lovernor  and  Herr  Kahn,  started  by  the  hitler  mi  tin 
nature,  culture,  and  use  of  tlie  tea-phmt.  they  would  he 
trite  opinions  now,  with  many  darini;  speculations  on  tin- 
ultimate  c<^n(|uer>t  of  the  tea-cup  over  the  wine-cii]).  -I; 
would  inaujjjurate  the  third  beatitude  !'' exclaimed  the  pi.. 
losopher,  i)ressin<i;  toj;ether  the  tii)s  of  the  tinkers  of  lii,;n 
hands,  "and  the  'meek  would  inherit  the  earth;'"'  so  vxjn 
as  the  use  of  tea  became  universal,  mankind  w(jukl  ;;i(p\\ 
milder,  as  their  blood  was  purified  from  the  ilery  prodv.fs 
of  the  still  and  the  wine-press  !  The  life  of  man  would  l^ 
proloui^ed  and  made  more  valual)le. 

"What  has  u;iven  ( 'hina  four  thousand  of  years  of  c\i^t 
ence?"  asked  Herr  Kalm,  abruptly,  of  the  Count. 

'I'he  ('()Unt  could  not  tell,  unless  it  were  that  the  naiim 
was  dead  already  in  all  that  rej^arded  the  hi^liLT  life  nt 
national  existence, —  had  become  mummiiieil,  in  fad,  a.u; 
did  not  know  it. 

"  Not  at  all  !  "  replied  Herr  Kalm.  "  It  is  the  consi.int 
use  of  the  life-i;"ivin*;  infusion  of  tea  that  has  sa\ed  Chin.i' 
Tea  soothes  the  ner\es  ;  it  clears  the  blood,  expel  >vai"/i> 
from  the  brain,  and  restores  the  fountain  of  life  i(»  l)li^li!l^■ 
actixity,  J'^i'.^o-,  it  prolonj^s  the  existence  of  both  nieii  aiio 
nations,  and  has  made  China  the  most  anti([ue  nation  in  liic 
world." 

Herr  Kalm  was  a  devotee  to  the  tea-cup;  ''  '  drank  ; 
strong  to  excite  his  Hanging  spirits,  weak  to  ([uict  ilnin 
down.  He  took  IJohea  with  his  facts,  and  Hvson  with  Il> 
fancy,  and  mixed  them  to  secure  the  necessary  atilalih  ' 
write  his  Ijooks  of  science  and  travel.  I'pon  Hyson  hf 
would  have  attempted  the  Iliad,  upon  liohea  lu'  wdiM 
undertake  to  square  the  circle,  discover  perpetual  uintion, 
or  reform  the  (ierman  philosophy. 

The  professor  was  in  a  jovial  mood,  and  gambolled  away 
gracefully  as  a  Finland  horse  under  a  pack-sadclK'  l;uldi 
with  the  learning  of  a  dozen  students  of  Aix),  iravclluu 
home  for  the  holidays 

"We  are   fortunate  in  being  able  to  procure  our  tea  in 


IJKTWIXT    TIIK    VIOLKT    AND    THK    KOSK. 


279 


txclian^f  for  our  useless  ginseng,"  remarked  the  Lady  de 
I'illv.  as  she  handed  the  professor  a  tiny  phite  of  the  leaves, 
a^  was  ilie  fashion  of  the  chiy.  After  chinking  the  tea,  the 
inliisid  leaves  were  regarded  as  quite  a  fashionable  delicacy. 
Kxccpt  for  the  fashion,  il  had  not  been  perhaps  considered 
a  delicacy  at  all. 

Tlu'  observation  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly  set  the  professor  off 
,  nanoilier  branch  of  the  subject.  "He  had  observed,"  he 
said,  ••ilie  careless  methods  of  preparing  the  ginseng  in  New 
France,  and  predicted  a  speedy  end  of  the  traffic,  unless  it 
ncre  juepared  to  suit  the  fancy  of  the  fastidious  Chinese. 

'That  is  true,  Herr  Kalm,"  replied  the  (iovernor,  "but 
(jiir  Indians  who  gather  it  are  bad  managers.  Our  friend 
I'hilihcrl,  who  opened  this  lucrative  trade,  is  alone  capable 
ii  ensuring  its  continuance.  It  is  a  mine  of  wealth  to  New 
Fiance,  if  rightly  developed.  How  much  made  you  last 
'  car  by  ginseng.  Philibert ,'' " 

"  I  can  scarcely  answer,"  replied  the  Bourgeois,  hesitating 
a  moment  to  mention  what  might  seem  like  egotism  ;  "but 
iiic  hail  million  I  contributed  towards  the  war  in  defence  of 
.\catlia  was  wholly  the  product  of  my  export  of  ginseng  to 
('hina." 

•'1  know  it  Mas!  and  (iod  bless  you  for  it,  Philibert!" 
exclaimed  the  Governor  with  emotion,  as  he  grasped  the 
h.ind  (»f  the  patriotic  merchant. 

"If  we  have  preserved  New  France  this  year,  it  was 
through  your  timely  help  in  Acadia.  The  King's  treasury 
',a>  exhausted,"  continued  the  (iovernor.  looking  at  Herr 
Ivahn.  "  and  ruin  imminent,  when  the  noble  merchant  of 
liieChien  d'Or  fed.  clothed,  and  paid  the  King's  troops  for 
tv.o  months  before  the  taking  of  (irand  Pre  from  the 
ciieinv  ! " 

■No  great  thing  in  that,  your  Excellency,"  replied  the 
llour^eois.  who  hated  compliments  to  himself.  "  If  those 
who  have  do  not  give,  how  can  you  get  from  those  who  have 
nni  ?  \ou  may  lay  some  of  it  to  the  account  of  Pierre  too,  — 
iie  was  in  Acadia,  you  know.  Governor."  A  Hash  of  honest 
pride  passed  over  the  usually  sedate  features  of  the  Bour- 
rt'eois  at  the  mention  of  his  son. 

be  Gardeur  looked  at  his  sister.  She  knew  instinctively 
thai  his  thoughts  put  into  words  would  say,  "  He  is  worthy 


28o 


TIIK    GOLDEN    DOG. 


to  be  your  father,  Ainelie ! "  She  blushed  with  a  secret 
pleasure,  but  spoke  not.  The  music  in  her  heart  was  with. 
out  words  yet ;  but  one  day  it  would  fill  the  universe  with 
harmony  for  her. 

The  Governor  noticed  the  sudden  reticence,  and  half  Mir- 
mising  the  cause,  remarked  playfully,  "The  Iroquois  wii; 
hardly  dare  approach  Tilly  with  such  a  garri-son  as  IVrre 
Philibert  and  Le  Gardeur,  and  witii  you,  my  Lady  dc  Tillv, 
as  commandant,  and  you.  Mademoiselle  Ame'lie,  as  aiclc'-dc- 
camp  ! " 

"To  be  sure!  your  Kxcellency,"  replied  the  Lack  de 
Tilly.  "  The  women  of  Tilly  have  worn  swords  and  V^:, 
the  old  house  before  now  !"  she  added  playfully.  alludiii^Mo 
a  celebrated  defence  of  the  chateau  by  a  former  ladv  of  the 
Manor  at  the  head  of  a  body  of  her  irnsitairts ;  '•  and  de- 
pend upon  it,  we  shall  neither  give  up  Tilly  nor  Le  Gardeur 
either,  to  whatever  savages  claim  them,  be  they  red  or  white!' 

The  lady's  allusion  to  his  late  associates  did  not  ot'ifini 
Le  Gardeur,  whose  honest  nature  despised  their  condiut, 
while  he  liked  their  company.  They  all  understood  her.  aiui 
laughed.  The  Governor's  loyalty  to  the  King's  coniniission 
prevented  his  speaking  his  thoughts.  He  only  remarked, 
"  Lt'  Gardeur  and  Pierre  Philibert  will  be  under  vour  order-, 
my  Lady,  and  my  orders  are  that  they  are  not  to  return  lu 
the  city  until  all  dangers  of  the  Iroquois  are  over." 

"  All  right,  your  Kxcellency  !  "  exclaimed  Le  Gardeur.  "  1 
shall  obey  my  aunt."  He  was  acute  enough  to  see  lliroiii;h 
their  kindly  scheming  for  his  welfare ;  but  his  good  natiu' 
and  thorough  devotion  to  his  aunt  and  sister,  and  his  altei 
tionate  friendship  for  Pierre,  made  him  yield  to  the  proieii 
without  a  qualm  of  regret.  Le  Gardeur  was  assailable  mi 
manv  sides, -~  a  fault  in  his  character — or  a  wcaknr>^ 
which,  at  any  rate,  sometimes  offered  a  lever  to  move  liirn  iii 
directions  opposite  to  the  malign  influences  of  i]igot  and  hi> 
associates. 

'{'he  company  rose  from  the  tea-table  and  moved  to  ilk' 
drawing-room,  where  conversation,  music,  and  a  few  ^aiiii- 
of  cards  whilod  away  a  couple  of  hours  very  pleasantly. 

Amelie  sang  excpiisitely.  The  Goxernor  was  an  e.xcclleiit 
musician,  and  accompanii'd  her.  His  voice,  a  powerfil 
tenor,  had   been   strengthened  by  many  a  conflict  with  old 


Iii;T\VlXr     IHE    VIOLLT    AXIJ    TlIK    Kt)SE. 


281 


IVncas  on  the  hii;h  seas,  and  made  soft  and  llexible  by  his 
iiKinifokl  sympathies  with  all  that  is  kindly  anil  good  and 
niie  in  human  nature. 

A  song  of  wonderful  pathos  and  beauty  had  just  been 
brought  down  from  the  wilds  of  the  Ottawa,  and  become 
•jiiiversally  sung  in  New  France.  A  voyageur  Hying  from  a 
band  ot  Iroquois  had  found  a  hiding-place  on  a  rocky  islet 
in  ihc  middle  of  the  Sept  Chutes.  He  concealed  himself 
nmii  his  foes,  but  could  not  escape,  and  in  the  end  died  of 
xtarvaiioii  and  sleeplessness.  The  dying  man  peeletl  olf  the 
Ahitf  l)ark  of  the  birch,  and  with  the  juice  of  berries  wrote 
upon  ii  his  death  song,  which  was  found  long  after  by  the 
>ido  of  his  remains.  His  grave  is  now  a  marked  spot  on  the 
(Kiawa.  La  Complainte  dc  dulicKx  had  seized  the  imagination 
uf  .Viiicliu.  She  sang  it  exquisitely,  and  to-night  needed  no 
Dressing  lo  do  so,  for  her  heart  was  full  of  the  new  song, 
cuinposed  under  such  circumstances  of  woe.  Intense  was 
:hc  sympathy  of  the  company,  as  she  began  : 

'"  I'etit  rochLT  dc  hi  haiitt;  montagne, 
Je  vieiis  tinh'  ici  lotte  campagne ! 
Ah!  doux  echos,  entLMidt.'z  nies  soupirs  ! 
En  hmguissant  je  vais  hicntot  —  niouiir.'" 

Fhore  were  no  dry  eyes  as  she  concluded.  The  last  sighs 
ul  Cadicux  seemed  to  expire  on  her  lips: 

" '  Rossignule,  va  dire  a  ma  maitresse, 

A  mes  eiifans,  qu'un  acHeii  je  leiir  laisse, 
Que  j'ai  garde  nion  anmur  et  ma  foi, 
Kt  desorniais  faiit  renoncer  a  moi.'  " 

A  few  more  friends  of  the  family  dropped  in — Coulon  de 
Villicis.  ("laude  lleauharnais,  La  C'orne  St.  Luc,  and  others, 
'iio  luul  heard  of  the  lady's  departure  and  came  to  bid  her 
■ulieu. 

ha  Corne  raised  much  mirth  by  his  allusions  to  the 
Iroquois.  'I'he  secret  was  plainly  no  secret  to  him.  "  I 
I  ""pe  to  get  their  scalps,"  said  he,  "  when  you  have  done  with 
|;:uni  and  they  with  you,  Le  dardeur  !  " 

Hk'  evening  passed  on  i)leasantly,  and  the  clock  of  the 
IvLCoilets  pealed  out  a  good  late  hour  before  they  took  final 
l^'Ue  of  their  hospitable  hostess,  with  mutual  good  wishes 
"111  adieu.s,  which  with  some  of  them  were   never  repeated. 


282 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


Le  Gardeur  was  no  little  touched  and  comforted  by  so  imich 
syni|)athy  and  kindness.  He  shook  the  Bourgeois  alTrctirin- 
alely  by  the  hand,  inviting  him  to  come  up  to  'i'illv.  it  v,,,- 
noticed  and  remembered  that  this  e\ening  Le  (iardcui  elun^r 
filially,  as  it  were,  to  the  father  of  Pierre,  and  the  farewell  Ik- 
gave  him  was  tender,  almost  solenm,  in  a  sort  of  ha(lnt.s> 
that  left  an  impress  upon  all  minds.  "Tell  I'icnv  lii;i 
indeed,  he  knows  we  start  early,"  said  Le  Oardt'ur,  "a;ul 
the  canoes  will  be  waiting  on  the  Ijatture  an  hour  after 
sun'-ise." 

The  IJourgeois  knew  in  a  general  way  the  position  of  l.t 
(Jardeur,  and  sympathized  tleeply  with  him.  •'  \\vc\)  vnu 
heart  up,  my  boy  !  "  said  he  on  lea\  ing.  "  Remt'iulxr  iln- 
proverb,  —  never  forget  it  for  a  moment,  Le  Oardeur :  C  ,/ii.- 
Die II  i:;ardc  est  bicn  i^d/ufe .' "' 

"(iood-by,  Sieur  Thilibert ! "  replied  he,  still  holding;  him 
by  the  hand.  •'!  would  fain  be  permitted  to  regard  \ou  l^ 
a  father,  since  Pierre  is  all  of  a  brother  to  me  !  " 

"1  will  be  a  father,  and  a  loxing  one  too,  if  \()U  \\i'! 
permit  me,  Le  dardeur,"  said  the  IJourgeois,  touclictl  !u 
the  appeal.  "When  you  return  to  the  city,  come  lioiiii,'  with 
Pierre.  At  the  (lolden  Dog.  as  well  as  at  llelnioin.tlit.ic 
will  be  ever  welcome  for  I'iene's  friend  as  for  IMenc's  ^cll, 

'I'he  guests  then  took  their  departure. 

The  preparations  for  the  journey  home  were  all  made,  and 
the  household  retired  to  rest,  all  glad  to  return  to  'I'illy.  Kvcn 
Felix  Baudoin  felt  like  a  bov  going  back  on  a  holidav.  Ili> 
mind  was  surcharged  with  the  endless  things  he  had  gadioial 
up,  ready  to  pour  into  the  symjjathizing  ear  of  llarban 
Sanschagrin  ;  and  the  ser\'anls  and  (Yiisi/ciircs  were  i'(|ualiy 
eager  to  return  to  lelate  their  ad\cntures  in  the  capital  uluii 
summoned  on  the  \<J\\\g\  lonee  to  build  the  walls  ot  (Jucbci. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 


THE    CANADIAN    nuAl-SONG. 


garil  \()U  >l^ 


ill   liuulc.  Allu 


T 


"Via  I'hon  vent  ! 
Via  rjoli  vlmU  ! 
Via  ri)oii  vent ! 
Ma  mie  nrappelle  ! 
Via  I'hon  vent  ! 
Via  rjoli  vent ! 
Via  ri)on  vent! 
Ma  mie  m'attend  !  " 


UK  j:;ay  chorus  of  the  voyap^eurs  made  the  shores  ring, 
cis  they  kept  time  with  their  oars,  while  the  siKer  spray 


pc 


(\  like  a  shower  of  diauKJiuls  in  the  briirht  smshiiie  at 


y  stroke   of    their    rapid    paddles.      I'he    i;raceful    bark 

les.  things  of  beauty  and  almost  of  life,  leaped  joyously 

the  blue  waters  of  the  St.  Lawrence  as  tliev  bore  the 

11}  of  the  Lady  de  'I'illy  and  Pierre  l'hilil)erl  with  a  train 


(Inp 
uveri 

CllK 
ii\Cl 

tain 

of  <(7/.v/A^/;v.s-  back  to  the  old  Manor  House. 

The  broad  river  was  Hooded  with  simshine  as  it  rolled 
niajc^tically  between  the  iiigh  banks  crowned  with  green 
liikls  and  woods  in  full  leaf  of  summer,  [""recpient  cottages 
-ind  villages  were  visible  along  the  shores,  and  now  and  then 
;i  little  thiirch  with  its  bright  spire  or  belfry  maikcd  the  suc- 
'  "-^ivf  parishes  on  either  hand. 

I  lu'  tide  had  alreadv  forced  its  wav  two  hiuulred  lea<jues 


|>  lioin   the    ocean,   and    still    pressed    irresistibly   onward, 

St  the  weight  ol    the  descending 


ireaiii, 


nd 


w  restnnt:  aLraui 


riic  wind  too  was  favorable.      A   ninnber  of  yachts  and 
'>Uo;ui\  spreail  their  snowy  sails  to  ascend  the  river  with  the 
i'liey  were  for  the  most   part   laden  with  munitions  of 


\\a 


1'  tt'i  the  Richelieu  on  their  way  to  the  militar\-  jiosls  on 
l.ikf  ('haini)lain,  or  merchandise  for  Montreal  to  be  rel.ulen 

2,S3 


284 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


in  Heels  of  canoes  for  the  tradincj  posts  uj)  the  rivii  df  ih,. 
Ottawas,  the  Oicat  Lakes,  or,  mayhap,  to  supply  the  new  and 
far-off  settlements  on  the  lielle  Riviere  and  the  Illinois. 

The  line  of  canoes  swept  past  the  sailing  vessels  with  ,; 
cheer,  'I'he  light-hearted  crews  exchanged  salutations  ,nul 
bandied  jests  with  eacli  other,  laughing  immoderatelv  at  ilu- 
well-worn  jokes  current  upon  the  river  among  the  lou^^rii 
voyageurs.  A  good  voyage  !  a  clear  run  !  short  port  im.s 
and  long  rests  !  Some  incjuired  whether  their  friends  luui 
paid  for  the  bear  and  buffalo  skins  they  were  going  lo  huv, 
or  they  complimented  each  other  on  their  nice  heads  of  Imh, 
which  it  was  hoped  they  would  not  leave  behind  as  keep- 
sakes with  the  Irocpiois  squaws. 

The  boat-S'mgs  of  the  Canadian  voyageurs  are  uni(iue  m 
character,  and  very  pic  *  sing  when  sung  by  a  crew  of  bioad- 
chested  fellows  dashing  their  light  birch-bark  canoes  nwr 
the  waters  rough  or  smooth,  taking  them,  as  they  take  for- 
tune, cheerfullv,  sometimes  skimming  like  wild  geese  over 
the  long,  placid  reaches.  S(jmetimes  bounding  like  stags  down 
the  rough  rapids  and  foaming  saults. 

Master  Jean  La  Ahirche,  clean  as  a  new  pin  and  in  hi- 
merriest  mood,  sat  erect  as  the  King  of  Vvetot  in  the  dow  c! 
the  long  canoe  which  held  the  Lady  de  Tilly  and  her  faniil\ 
His  sonorous  violin  was  cociuettishly  tlxed  in  its  place  nl 
honor  under  his  wagging  chin,  as  it  acconij^anied  his  voice 
while  he  chanted  an  old  boat-song  which  had  liglitenetl  ihr 
lai)or  of  many  a  weary  oar  on  lake  and  river,  from  the  Si 
Lawrence  to  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

Amelie  sat  in  the  .stern  of  the  canoe,  laving  her  whiii 
hand  in  the  cool  stream  which  rushed  jjast  her.  She  iooku! 
proud  and  hapjn'  to-day,  for  the  whole  world  of  her  affeclidi^ 
was  gathered  together  in  that  little  bark. 

She  felt  grateful  for  the  bright  sun  :  it  seemed  to  h,i\ 
dispelled  e\ery  cloud  that  lately  shaded  her  thonuhts  nn 
account  of  her  brother,  and  she  siientl}'  blessed  the  h^lr 
i)reexe  that  played  with  her  hair  and  cooled  her  clu'ck. 
which  she  felt  was  tinged  with  a  warm  glow  of  pleasmv  i" 
the  presence  of  Pierre  I'hilibert. 

She  sjioke  little,  and  almost  thaid<ed  the  rough  voyauviii^ 
for  their  incessant  melodies,  which  made  con\ersatioii  dii'v 
cult  f(»i"  the  tinu',  and   thus  left  her  to  her  own  sweet  "iki.: 


TIIK    CANADIAN     F',(  )AT-.S()N(;. 


2S^ 


ihouiiht>,  which  seemed  almost  too  sacred  for  the  profana- 
tion ot  words. 

All  occasional  look,  or  a  sympathetic  smile  exchani^ed 
with  licT  Ijrother  and  her  aunt,  spoke  xolumcs  of  pine  alYec- 
[ion.  ( )nce  or  twice  the  eyes  of  Pierre  Philihert  captured  a 
:h\Kc  ot  iiers  which  niiglit  not  have  Ween  intended  for  him, 
but  wiiich  Amt'lie  suffered  him  to  intercept  and  hide  away 
.mionu  the  secret  treasures  of  his  heart.  A  glance  oi  irue 
.iiicciion  -brief,  it  may  be,  as  a  Hash  of  lightning — -  be- 
omies,  when  caught  by  the  eyes  of  love,  a  real  thing,  fixed 
and  imperishable  forever.  A  tender  smile,  a  fond  word  of 
love's  creation,  contains  a  universe  of  light  and  life  and 
iniiiioiiality, —  small  things,  and  of  little  value  to  others,  but 
I,  liiin  or  her  whom  they  concern  more  precious  and  more 
pri/i'd  than  the  treasures  of  Ind. 

Master  Jean  La  Marche,  after  a  few  minutes'  rest,  made 
>iill  more  refreshing  by  a  draught  from  a  suspicious-looking 
tiask.  which,  out  of  respect  for  the  presence  of  his  mistress, 
ihf  Lady  de  Tilly,  he  said  contained  "  milk,"  began  a  popular 
ixi.U-song  which  everv  vovageur  in  New  France  knew  as  v/ell 
a>  his  prayers,  and  loved  to  his  very  finger-ends. 

The  canoe-men  pricked  up  their  ears,  like  troopers  at  the 
^nund  of  a  bugle,  as  Jean  La  Marche  began  the  famous  old 
l)alhul  of  the  king's  son  who,  with  his  silver  gun,  aimed  at 
liio  beautiful  black  duck,  and  shot  the  white  one,  out  of 
who^e  eyes  came  gold  and  diamonds,  and  out  of  whose 
iiioutli  rained  silver,  while  its  pretty  feathers,  scattered  to  the 
t.)iir  winds,  were  picked  up  by  three  fair  dames,  who  with 
them  made  a  bed  both  large  and  deep    - 

'•  For  poor  wayfuriiiu;  men  to  sleep." 

Master  Jean's  voice  was  clear  and  resonant  as  a  church 
iiell  newly  christened;  and  he  sang  the  old  boat-song  with 
an  eiieiijjy  that  drew  the  crews  of  half-a-do/en  other  canoes 
mti)  the  wake  of  his  music,  all  uniting  in  the  stirring  chorus  : 

"  Frin.mie  !    Kringiic  siir  hi  riviere! 
Krinmiu  !    I'riii.mu.'  sur  Taviron  '  " 

The  performance  of  Jean   La   \Lrrche  was  liigliK'  I'clislu'd 
'v  the  critical  boatmen,  and  drew  from  them  that  llattei  ing 


286 


THE    GOLDKN    DOG, 


mark  of  approval,  so  welcome  to  a  vocalist,       an  encore  m 
the  whole  long  ballad,  from  beginning  to  end. 

As  the  line  of  canoes  swept  up  the  stream,  a  welcome 
cheer  occasionally  greeted  them  from  the  shore,  or  a  vou^ 
on  land  joined  in  the  gay  refrain.  They  draw  nearer  h, 
Tilly,  and  their  \oiccs  became  more  ar.d  more  mu>ical.  ihej; 
gaiety  more  irrepressible,  for  they  were  going  home ;  aiKi 
home  to  the  habitans,  as  well  as  to  their  lady,  was  the  worlii 
of  all  delights. 

The  contagion  of  high  spirits  caught  even  Le  (lardeiir.  aiiti 
drew  him  out  of  himself,  making  him  for  the  time  lorgri  ili, 
disappointments,  resentments,  and  allurements  of  the  cii\. 

Sitting  there  in  the  golden  sunshine,  the  blue  sk\  aii()\t 
him,  the  blue  waters  below,  friends  whom  he  low'tl  arcniiKi 
him,  mirth  in  every  eye,  gaiety  on  every  tongue.  how 
could  Le  (jardeur  but  smile  as  the  music  of  the  bdatinen 
brought  back  a  hundred  sweet  associations.^  Nav.  Ii 
laughed,  and  to  the  inexpressible  delight  of  Aniclie  ami 
Pierre,  who  watched  every  change  in  his  demeanor,  uiiiiai 
in  the  chorus  of  the  glorious  boat-song. 

A  few  hours  of  this  pleasant  voyaging  brought  iho  liulr 
fleet  of  canoes  under  the  high  bank,  which  from  ii>  .Miiiuiiii 
slopes  away  in  a  wide  domain  of  forests,  park,  and  culuvaled 
fields,  in  the  midst  of  which  stood  the  high-pcjinicd  am: 
many-gabled  Manor  House  of  Tilly. 

Upon  a  promontory — as  if  placed  there  for  b(jth  a  laini 
and  sea  mark,  to  save  .souls  as  well  as  bodies  rose  tii- 
belfry  of  the  Chapel  of  St.  Michael,  overlooking  a  clu^t(.r  > : 
white,  old-fashioned  cottages,  which  formed  the  village  ui 
St.  Michael  de  l^illy. 

Upon  the  sandy  beach  a  crowd  of  women,  children,  am! 
old  men  had  gathered,  who  were  cheering  and  clappin: 
their  hands  at  the  unexpected  return  of  the  lady  cf  the 
Manor  with  all  their  friends  and  relatives. 

The  fears  of  the  villagers  had  been  greatly  excited  fi'' 
some  days  past  by  exaggerated  reports  of  the  i^resmcc  v\ 
Irocjuois  on  the  u[)i)er  waters  of  the  C'haudiere.  They  iin: 
unnaturally  conjectured,  moreover,  that  the  general  (all  f<'! 
men  on  the  Ring's  con-h\  to  fortify  the  city,  portended  aii 
invasion  by  the  I'aiglish,  who,  it  was  rumored,  were  ; 
come   uj)  in  shijjs  from   below,   as  in   the   days  of   Sir  Wi 


Tin:.  CANADIAN     lioAT-SONC. 


287 


I  encore  ot 


liam  Pliipp^  ^^'^-'^  '^'•''  i^r'i^y  ^f  ^'i-'^^'  Kni;laiulers,  the  story 
1)1  whose  defeat  under  the  walls  of  (Quebec  was  still  freshly 
reint'iiil)ered  in  the  traditions  of  the  Colony. 

••N'e\er  fear  them  I  "  said  old  Louis,  the  one-eyed  pilot. 
•  li  \v;i>  in  my  father's  days.  Many  a  time  have  I  heard 
liiin  ttH  the  story  —  how,  in  the  autumn  of  the  good  year 
11,90.  iliirtv-four  great  shi[)s  of  the  IJostonians  came  u[)  from 
below,  and  landed  an  army  of  7'r7///v,v  hlciis  of  New  England 
0:1  the  ilats  of  F)eauport.  Hut  our  stout  (iovernor.  Count 
(le  Frontcnac,  came  upon  them  from  the  woods  with  his 
brave  soldiers,  habitans,  and  Indians,  and  drove  them  pell- 
mell  hack  to  Lueir  boats,  and  stripped  the  ship  of  .\dmiral 
I'iiipps  of  his  red  Hag,  which,  if  you  d(jubt  my  word,  — 
which  no  one  does,  -still  hangs  over  the  high  altar  of  the 
I  lunch  of  Notre  Dame  des  N'ictoires.  l]les.sed  be  our  Lady, 
who  saved  our  country  fron".  our  enemies,  —  and  will  do  so 
,i;,Min,  ii  we  do  not  by  our  wickedness  lose  her  favor  I  lUit 
iho  ivbi\'  M--the  dry  tree  — still  stands  upon  the  I'oint  de 
Levis,  where  the  Boston  lieet  took  refuge  before  beating 
iheir  retreat  down  the  river  again, —  and  you  know  the  olcl 
prophecy;  that  while  that  tree  stands,  the  English  shall  never 
prevail  against  (Quebec!" 

Much  comforted  by  this  speech  of  old  Louis  the  pilot, 
the  villagers  of  Tilly  rushed  to  the  beach  to  receive  their 
friends. 

The  canoes  came  dashing  into  shore.  Men,  women,  and 
ehilchon  ran  knee-deep  into  the  water  to  meet  them,  and  a 
huiulred  eager  hands  were  ready  to  seize  their  prows  and 
(Ira^^  them  high  and  dry  upon  the  sandy  beach. 

"Home  again!  and  welcome  to  Tilly,  Pierre  Philibcrt  I  " 
L'xeiainied  Lady  de  Tilly,  offering  her  hand.  "  l-'riends  like 
vdi;  have  the  right  of  welcome  here.''  Pierre  expressed  his 
pleasure  in  titling  terms,  and  lent  his  aid  to  the  noble  lady 
ti)  (lisenihark. 

l.e  (lardeur  assisted  Amelie  out  of  the  canoe.  As  he  led 
her  across  the  beach,  he  felt  her  hand  tremble  as  it  rested 
<m  his  arn;.  He  glanced  down  at  her  averted  face,  and  savv 
her  eyes  directed  to  a  spot  well  remembered  by  himself  — 
the  scene  of  his  rescue  from  diowninLf  b\'  Pierre  I'hiliberl. 

The  whole  scene  came  before  Amelie  at  this  moment. 
Her  vivid  recollection  conjuied   u[)  the  sight  of  the  inani- 


2.S8 


TIIK    (;()I.I)KN    DOG. 


mate  body  of  her  brother  as  it  was  l^rought  ashore  hv  tlic 
stron<2;  arm  (^f  Pierre  Philibert  and  laid  up)n  the  hc;i(  h 
her  lonj;  ajijony  of  suspense,  and  Iier  joy,  tlie  i;ieatL>t  she 
had  e\'er  felt  before  or  since,  at  his  resuscitation  lo  lite,  and 
lastly,  her  jjas  ijnate  vow  which  she  made  whe-ii  clasi)!!);' 
the  neck  of  his  |)reser\er  a  vow  which  she  had  enshrined 
as  a  holy  thing  in  her  heart  ever  since. 

At  that  moment  a  strange  fancy  seized  her  :  that  Pierre 
Philibert  was  again  plunging  into  deep  water  to  rescue  her 
brother,  and  that  she  would  be  called  on  by  some  mysterious 
power  to  renew  her  v(nv  or  fulfil  it  to  the  very  letter. 

She  twitched  Le  Gardeur  gently  by  the  arm  and  said  to 
him,  in  a  half  whisper,  "It  was  there,  brother  I  do  you 
remember .''  " 

"1  know  it,  sister!"  replied  he;  "I  was  also  tliinkinii 
of  it.  I  am  grateful  to  Pierre;  yet,  oh,  my  Amelia,  luiter 
he  had  left  me  at  the  bottom  of  the  deep  river,  where  I  had 
found  my  bed!  1  have  no  pleasure  in  seeing  lilly  anv 
more  !  " 

"Why  not,  brother  ?  Are  we  not  all  the  same  .'  Are  wx 
not  all  here  ?  'Phere  is  happiness  and  comfort  for  v(ai  at 
Tillv." 

"  There  was  once,  Amelie,"  replied  he,  sadly  ;  "  but  there 
will  be  none  for  me  in  the  future,  as  I  feel  too  well.  I  am 
not  worthy  of  you,  Amelie." 

"Come,  brother!"  replied  she,  cheerily,  "you  dampen 
the  joy  of  our  arrival.  See,  the  flag  is  going  up  on  the 
staff  of  the  turret,  and  old  Martin  is  getting  ready  to  tire  oil 
the  culverin  in  honor  of  your  arrival." 

Presently  there  was  a  flash,  a  cloud  of  smoke,  and  tlic 
report  of  a  cannon  came  booming  down  to  the  shore  from 
the  Manor  House. 

"  That  was  well  done  of  Martin  and  the  women  ! "  re- 
marked I-'elix  Paudoin,  who  had  served  in  his  youth,  ami 
therefore  knew  what  was  fitting  in  a  military  salute.  '■The 
women  of  Tilly  are  better  than  the  men  of  Heauce."  says  the 
proverb." 

"  Ay,  or  of  Tilly  either  !  "  remarked  Josephtc  Pe  Tardeiir, 
in  a  sharp,  snapping  tone.  Josephte  was  a  short,  stout 
virago,  with  a  turned-up  nose  and  a  pair  of  black  eyes  that 
would  bore  you  through  like  an  auger.     She  wore  a  wide 


I' HE    CANADIAN    ROAT-SONG. 


289 


brimmed  luit  .of  straw,  overto|)pin<j;  curls  as  crisp  as  her 
temper.  Her  short  linsey  petticoat  was  not  chary  of  show- 
iim  her  substantial  ankles,  while  her  rolled-up  sleeves  dis- 
played i'  piiir  of  arms  so  red  and  robust  that  a  Swiss 
milknuiid  might  well  have  envied  them. 

Her  remark  was  intended  for  the  ear  of  Jose  Le  Tardeur, 
her  luisl)and,  a  lazy,  good-natured  fellow,  whose  eyes  had 
been  fairly  henpecked  out  of  his  head  all  the  days  of  his 
ni.uried  life.  Josephte's  speech  hit  '  "m  without  hurting 
him.  as  he  remarked  to  a  neighbor.  Josephte  mavle  a  target 
(it  liim  every  day.  He  was  glad,  for  his  part,  that  the 
women  of  'I'illy  were  better  soldiers  than  the  men,  and  so 
much  fonder  of  looking  after  things  !  It  saved  the  men  a 
deal  of  worry  and  a  good  deal  of  work. 

•'WIkU  are  you  saying,  Jose  ?"  exclaimed  Felix,  who  only 
cauijht  a  few  half  words. 

•I  say,  Master  Felix,  that  Init  for  Mere  Fve  there  would 
have  been  no  curse  upon  men,  to  make  them  labor  when 
they  do  not  wrnt  to,  and  no  sin  either.  As  the  Cure  says, 
we  could  have  lain  on  the  grass  sunning  ourselves  all  day 
iini,^  X(mv  it  is  nothing  but  work  and  pray,  never  play, 
el>c  you  will  save  neither  l)ody  nor  soul.  Master  Felix,  I 
hope  you  will  remember  me  if  1  come  up  to  the  Manor 
House." 

"Ay.  I  will   remember  you,  Jose,"  replied   Felix,  tartly; 

•but  if  labor  was   the  curse    which    Fve  brought    int      '  e 

world  when  she  ate  the  apple,  I   am   sure  you  are  free  w    m 

So  ride  up  with  the  carts,  Jose,  and  get  out  of  the  way 

\fim\  badv's  carriage  !  " 

I  i^e  obeyed,  and  taking  off  his  cap,  bowed  respectfully  to 
[the  Lady  de   Tilly  as   she  passed,    leaning    on  the   arm  of 

'ierre  I'hilibert,  who  escorted  her  to  her  carriage. 

A  couple  of  sleek  Canadian  horses,  sure-f(K)ted  as  goats 
[atvl  strong  as  little  elephants,  drew  the  coach  with  a  long, 
JMeady  trot  up   the   winding  road  which   led  to  the   Manor 

l')iise. 

Ihe  road,  unfenced   and   bordered    with    grass    on   each 

[>nle  ()f  the  track,  was  smooth  and  well  kept,  as  became  the 

(•laiKle  (  haussee  of  the  Harony  of  'I'illy.      It  ran  sometimes 

Ithrou^h  stretches   of  cultivated    (lelds       green   pastures  or 

[corn-lands  ripening  for  the  sickle  of    the  ccnsitairc.     Some- 


290 


Till-:    GOLDEN    DOG. 


times  it  passed  through  cool,  shady  woods,  full  of  primeval 
graiideur,  —  part  of  the  great  Forest  of  Tilly,  which  stretched 
away  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  over  the  hills  of  the  .south 
shore.  Huge  oaks  that  might  have  stood  there  from  the 
beginning  of  the  world,  wide-branching  elms,  nnd  dark 
pines  overshadowed  the  highway,  opening  now  and  then 
into  vistas  of  green  fields  where  stood  a  cottage  m  iv,i,, 
with  a  herd  of  mottled  cows  grazing  down  by  tlu'  hiddk 
On  tne  higher  ridges  the  trees  formed  a  close  plialaiix,  and 
with  their  dark  tops  cut  the  horizon  into  a  long.  irrci,nilar 
line  of  forest,  as  if  offering  battle  to  the  woodman's  axe 
that  was  threatening  to  invade  their  solitudes. 

Half  an  hour's  driving  brought  the  company  to  the 
Manor  House,  a  stately  mansion,  gabled  and  pointed  like 
an  ancient  chateau  on  the  Seine. 

It  was  a  large,  irregular  structure  of  hammered  stone, 
with  deeply-recessed  windows,  mullioned  ami  ornamented 
with  grotesque  carvings.  A  turret,  loopholed  ami  battle- 
mented,  projected  from  each  of  the  four  corners  of  the 
house,  enabling  its  inmates  to  enhliue  every  side  with  a 
raking  fire  of  musketry,  alTording  an  adec|uate  dutence 
against  Indian  foes.  A  stone  tablet  over  the  main  entrance 
of  the  Manor  House  was  carved  with  the  arnioiial  he;ir- 
ings  of  the  ancient  family  of  Tilly,  with  the  date  of  its 
erection,  and  a  pious  invocation  placing  the  house  under 
the  special  protection  of  St.  Michael  de  Thury,  the  patron 
saint  of  the   House  of  Tilly. 

The  Manor  House  of  Tilly  had  been  built  by  Charle- 
Le  Gardeur  de  Tilly,  a  gentleman  of  Normandy,  one  ni 
whose  ancestors,  tiie  Sieur  de  Tilly,  figures  on  the  roll  of 
Battle  Abbey  as  a  follower  of  Duke  \Villiam  at  IiastinL'> 
His  descendant,  Charles  Le  Gardeur,  came  over  to  Canad.i 
with  a  large  body  of  his  vassals  in  1636,  having  obtained 
from  the  King  a  grant  of  the  lands  of  Tilly,  on  the  bank 
of  the  St.  Lawrence,  "to  hold  in  fief  and  seigniory,"  -  si 
ran  the  royal  patent,  —  "  with  the  right  and  jurisdiction  of 
superior,  moycniic  and  basse  justice,  and  of  hunting.  ti>li-j 
ing,  and  trading  with  the  Indians  throughout  tiic  wiiok nt: 
this  royal  concession  ;  sul)ject  to  the  condition  of  /'  (■' 
hovimas:;,.,  which  ho  shall  be  held  to  perform  at  ibe  Castie 
of  St.   Louis  in  Quebec,  of  which  he  shall   hold  under  the 


TIIK    CANADIAN     IU)AT-S()N(i. 


291 


customary   duties    and    dues,    agreeably   to    the  contumc   dc 
l\\)is  followed  in  this  country." 

Such  was  the  style  of  the  royal  grants  of  seignioral 
ri^TJUs  conceded  in  New  I''rance,  bv  virtue  of  one  of  which 
this  gallant  Norman  gentleman  founded  his  settlement  and 
liuill  this  Manor  House  on  the  shores  of  the  St.  Lawrence. 

A  broad,  smooth  carriage  road  led  up  to  the  mansion 
across  a  park  dotted  with  clumps  of  evergreens  and  decid- 
uous trees.  Here  and  there  an  ancient  patriarch  of  the 
foit'st  .stood  alone,  —  some  old  oak  or  elm,  whose  goodly  pro- 
piiilioiis  and  amjilitude  of  shade  had  found  favor  in  the 
i.vi>  of  the  seigniors  of  Tilly,  and  saved  it  from  the  axe 
lit  the  woodman. 

A  pretty  brook,  not  too  wide  to  be  crossed  over  by  a 
ii:>tic  bridge,  meandered  through  the  domain,  peeping 
iiccasionally  out  of  the  openings  in  the  woods  as  it  stole 
\\\\\  Hke  a  bashful  girl  from  the  eyes  of  her  admirer. 

This  brook  was  the  outflow  of  a  romantic  little  lake 
that  lay  hidden  away  among  the  wooded  hills  that  bounded 
tiio  horizon,  an  irregular  sheet  of  water  a  league  in  circum- 
ference, dotted  with  islands  and  abounding  with  fish*  and 
waterfowl  that  haunted  its  quiet  pools.  'J'hat  primitive 
i>it  of  nature  had  never  been  disturbed  by  axe  or  fire, 
;in(l  was  a  favorite  spot  for  recreation  to  the  inmates  of  the 
Manor  House,  to  whom  it  was  accessible  either  by  boat 
up  the  little  stream,  or  by  a  pleasant  drive  through  the  old 
woods. 

A^  the  carriages  drew  up  in  front  of  the  Manor  House. 
every  door,  window,  and  gable  of  which  looked  like  an  old 
triend  in  the  eyes  of  Pierre  Philibert,  a  body  of  female  ser- 
vants the  men  had  all  been  away  ;it  the  city  -  stood  ranged 
in  their  best  gowns  and  gayest  ribbons  to  welcome  home 
llieir  mistress  and  Mademoiselle  Amelie,  who  was  the  idol  of 
iliem  all. 

(Ireat  was  their  delight  to  see  Monsieur  Le  (lardeur, 
a>  ihev  usuallv  stvled  their  voung  master,  with  another 
;'t'ntleman  in  military  costume,  whom  it  did  not  take  two 
iiunutes  for  some  (^f  the  shi^.rp-eyi'd  lasses  to  recognize  as 
I'icrre  Philibert,  who  had  once-  saved  the  lifo  of  !,e  (lardeur 
"11  a  memorable  occasion,  and  who  now,  they  said  one  to 
•inother,  was   come    tf)    the    Manor    House    to       to       they 


292 


TMF,    (iOLPKX    nOfi. 


whispered  whiit  it  wTiS  to  each  other,  and  smiled  in  a  know- 
ing manner. 

Women's  wits  liy  swiftly  to  c(jnclusions,  and  ri^lit  ones 
too  on  most  occasions.  The  lively  maids  of  Tillv  told 
one  another  in  whispers  that  they  were  sure  I'ienc  i'liilj. 
bert  had  come  back  to  the  Manor  House  as  a  Miitoi  f,,! 
the  hand  of  Mademoiselle  Amelie,  as  was  most  nadual  lir 
should  do,  so  handsome  and  manly  looking  a>  lit,'  w;'n.  ami 
mademoiselle  always  liked  to  iiear  any  of  tliein  nu'iiiKni 
his  name.  'I'he  maids  ran  out  the  whole  chain  of  ioi^icil 
sequences  before  either  Pierre  or  Amelie  had  vcniuu'd  1m 
draw  a  conclusion  of  any  kind  from  the  premises  ot  tlii> 
visit. 

ilehind  the  mansion,  overlookini;  poultry-yards  aiui 
stables  which  were  well  hidden  from  view,  rose  a  hi^ii  , - 
lonibihr,  or  pigeon-house,  of  stone,  the  possession  of  which 
was  one  of  the  rights  which  feudal  law  reserved  to  ihc  Idid 
of  the  manor.  This  u'/ofn/'irrr  was  capable  of  conlainiii:;  a 
large  army  of  pigeons,  but  the  regard  which  the  La'rh  dc 
Tilly  had  for  the  corn-tields  of  her  (r/isitnircs  caused  lior 
to  thin  out  its  population  to  such  a  degree  that  thnv  re- 
mained only  a  few  favorite  birds  of  rare  breed  and  phiiiiaL,v 
to  strut  and  coo  upon  the  roofs,  and  rival  the  peacocks  (Hi 
the  terrace  with  their  bright  colors. 

In  front  of  the  mansion,  contrasting  oddly  with  ilk 
living  trees  around  it,  stood  a  high  ]^ole,  the  lt»ng.  htraiiiht 
stem  of  a  pine-tree,  carefully  stripped  of  its  bark.  iKarJp.:: 
on  its  top  the  withered,  remains  of  a  bunch  of  excr-rc'ciiN 
with  the  fragments  of  a  flag  and  entls  of  ribbon  whiJi 
fluttered  gaily  from  it.  The  pole  was  marked  with  hlack 
spots  from  the  discharge  of  guns  fired  at  it  by  the  y)\o\\> 
habitans.  who  had  kejit  the  ancient  custom  of  May-day 
by  planting  this  May-pole  in  front  of  the  Manor  House  ni 
their  lady. 

The  planting  of  such  a  pole  was  in  New  France  a  spcciai 
mark  of  res]Dect  due  to  the  feudal  superior,  and  custom  a^ 
well  as  politeness  required  liiat  it  should  not  be  taken  down 
until  the  recurrence  of  another  anniversary  of  Flora,  whicii 
in  New  France  sometimes  found  the  earth  white  wiili  snow 
and  hardened  with  frost,  instead  of  covered  with  (lowers  a^ 
in  the  Old  World  whence  the  custom  was  derived. 


THE    CANADIAN    liOAT-SONG. 


293 


The  Lady  de  Tilly  duly  ai^preciatcd  this  coinplinient  of 
hcT  faithful  crnsitiiift's,  and  would  sooner  have  stripped  her 
park  of  halt  its  live  trees  than  have  removed  that  dead  pole, 
witii  its  withered  crown,  from  the  place  of  honor  in  front  of 
her  mansion. 

The  revels  of  May  in  New  I-"rance,  the  kini^  and  cpieen  of 
Si.  rhilip,  the  rejoicings  of  a  frank,  loyal  peasantry  —  illit- 
ciait;  ill  books  but  not  unlearned  in  the  art  of  life,  have 
whollv  disappeared  before  the  levelling;  spirit  of  the  nine- 
iccntli  century. 

'\\\k;  celebration  of  the  day  of  St.  Philip  has  been  super- 
sciLcl  i)y  the  festival  of  St.  John  the  Haptist,  at  a  season  of 
•jif  vcar  when  green  leaves  and  blooming  llowers  give  the 
possihilily  of  arches  and  garlands  in  honor  of  the  Canadian 
suiiiiiier. 

Iclix  lieaudoin  with  a  wa\e  of  his  hand  scattered  the 
bcvv  of  maid  servants  who  stood  chattering  as  they  gazed 
ipun  llie  new  arrivals.  T'he  experience  of  Kelix  told  him 
that  everything  had  of  cour.se  gone  wrong  during  his  ab- 
>eiice  from  the  Manor  House,  and  that  nothing  could  be 
lit  for  his  mistress's  reception  until  he  had  set  all  to  rights 
a;,'ain  himself. 

The  worthy  majordomo  was  in  a  state  of  perspiration 
Ichl  he  should  not  get  into  the  house  before  his  mistress  and 
lion  his  livery  to  meet  her  at  the  door  with  his  white  wand 
and  everything  c'/i  rr^/e.  just  as  if  nothing  had  interrupted 
iheir  usual  course  of  housekeeping. 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  knew  the  weakness  of  her  faithful  okl 
servitor,  and  although  she  smiled  to  herself,  she  would  not  hurt 
his  feelings  by  entering  the  house  before  he  was  ready  at  his 
post  to  receive  her.  She  continued  walking  about  the  lawn 
conversing  with  Amelie,  Pierre,  and  Le  (iardeur,  until  she 
baw  old  Felix  with  his  wand  and  livery  .standing  at  the  door, 
when,  taking  Pierre's  arm,  she  led  the  wav  into  the  house. 

The  folding  doors  were  open,  and  Felix  with  his  wand 
walked  before  his  lady  and  her  companions  into  the  man- 
>iun.  'i'hey  entered  without  delay,  for  the  iia\  had  been 
'varm,  and  the  ladies  were  weary  after  sitting  several  hours 
ni  a  canoe,  a  mode  of  travelling  which  admits  of  very  little 
change  of  position  in  the  voyagers. 
The  interior  of  the  Manor  House  of  T'illy  presented  the 


194 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


appearance  of  an  old  F>ench  chateau.  A  large  hall  with 
anli(|iie  furniUire  occupied  the  center  of  the  house,  used 
(jccasionall)'  as  a  court  of  justice  when  the  Seigneur  dc  TiHv 
exercised  his  judicial  office  for  the  trial  of  offenders,  -  which 
was  very  rarely,  thanks  to  the  good  morals  of  the  people,  or 
held  a  u>iir  plcii'irrc  of  his  vassals,  on  affairs  of  the  sci^niorv 
for  apportioning  the  corvecs  for  road-nu\king  and  hrid^:- 
building,  and,  not  the  least  inijiortant  by  any  means,  for  the 
annual  feast  to  his  ccnsita  res  on  the  day  of  St.  Michael  dc 
Thury. 

From  this  hall,  passages  led  into  apartments  and  suiics  of 
rooms  arranged  for  use,  comfort,  and  hospitality.  The 
rooms  were  of  all  sizes,  ])anelled,  taj)estried,  and  fuinishcd 
in  a  st\le  of  splendor  suited  to  the  wealth  and  dignilv  of  the 
Seigneurs  of  Tilly.  A  stair  of  oak,  broatl  enough  f(;r  a  sec- 
tion of  grenadiers  to  march  up  it  abreast,  led  to  the  upper 
chand)ers,  bedrooms,  and  boudoirs,  which  looked  out  of  old 
mullioned  windows  upon  the  lawn  and  gardens  that  sur- 
roimded  the  house,  affording  picturescjue  glimpses  of  waler, 
hills,  and  forests  far  enough  off  for  contemplation,  and  yel  near 
enough  to  be  accessible  l)y  a  short  ride  from  the  mansion. 

I*ierre  Philibort  was  startled  at  the  strange  familiarity  ol 
everything  he  saw:  the  passages  and  all  their  intricacies, 
where  he,  Le  Oardeur,  and  Amelie  had  hid  and  found  one 
another  with  cries  of  delight,  —  he  knew  where  they  all  led 
to;  tlie  rooms  with  their  anticpie  and  stately  furniture,  the 
paintings  on  the  wall,  before  which  he  had  stood  and  ;;azed, 
wondering  if  the  world  v/as  as  fair  as  those  landscajK's  of 
sunny  France  and  Italy  and  why  the  men  and  women  of  the 
house  of  Tilly,  whose  portraits  hung  upon  the  walls,  looked 
at  him  so  kindly  with  those  dark  eyes  of  theiis.  which 
seemed  to  follow  him  everywhere,  and  he  imagined  they 
even  smiled  when  their  li|)s  were  illumined  by  a  ia\  of  siiii 
shine.  Tierre  looked  at  them  again  with  a  strange  inleiest, 
the\'  were  like  the  faces  of  li\ing  frienils  who  welconied  him 
back  to  'I'illy  after  years  of  absence. 

I'iern'   entered    a    well-remembered    apartment    whi(li  In 
knew  to  be  tlie  faNorite  .sitting-room  of  the   I.ady  dc  Til'} 
He  walked  hastily  across  it  to    look  at  a  picture  upon  the 
wall  which  he  recngnized  again  with  a  flush  of  pleasure. 

It  was  the  portrait    of  Amelie  painted  by  himsidf  duiini; 


THE    CANADIAN    BOAT-SONG. 


295 


his  Inst  visit  to  Tilly.  The  young  artist,  full  of  enthusiasm, 
had  put  his  whole  soul  into  the  work,  until  he  was  himself 
staitlcd  at  the  vivid  likeness  which  almost  unconsciously 
nowcd  from  his  pencil.  He  had  caught  the  divine  upward 
expiL's^^ion  of  her  eyes,  as  she  turned  her  head  to  listen  to 
iiin!.  and  left  upon  the  canvas  the  very  smile  he  had  seen 
uiion  iicr  lips.  Those  dark  eyes  of  hers  had  haunted  his 
irnmniy  forever  after.  'I'o  his  imagination  that  picture  had 
icLuiiic  almost  a  living  thing.  It  was  as  a  voice  of  his  own 
•JuU  returned  to  his  ear  as  the  voice  of  Amc'lie.  In  the 
jxiinling  of  that  portrait  Pierre  had  the  first  revelation  of  a 
Luiisciousness  of  his  deep  love  which  became  in  the  end  the 
master  passion  of  his  life. 

lie  stood  for  some  minutes  contemplating  this  portrait,  so 
diilerent  from  her  in  age  now,  yet  so  like  in  look  and  ex- 
pression. He  turned  suddenly  and  saw  Ame'lie ;  she  had 
vilently  stepped  up  behind  him,  and  her  features  in  a  glow 
.ji  pleasure  took  on  the  very  look  of  the  picture. 

i'ierre  started.  He  looked  again,  and  saw  every  feature  of 
the  ii;irl  of  twelve  looking  through  the  transparent  counte- 
luince  of  the  perfect  woman  of  twenty.  It  was  a  moment  of 
iiiissful  revelation,  for  he  felt  an  assurance  at  that  moment 
\k\[  Amclie  was  the  same  to  him  now  as  in  their  days  of 
Vdiuhful  companionship.  "  How  like  it  is  to  you  yet, 
.\inelie ! "  said  he;  "it  is  more  true  than  1  knew  how  to 
make  it !  " 

•That  sounds  like  a  paradox,  Pierre  Philibert !"  replied 
>hL',  with  a  smile.  "  IJut  it  means,  1  suppose,  that  you 
lainled  a  universal  portrait  of  me  which  will  l)e  like  through 
al!  my  seven  ages.  Such  a  picture  might  be  true  of  the 
Mill!.  Pierre,  had  you  jxiinted  that,  but  1  have  outgrown  the 
liidure  of  my  person." 

"1  could  iniagme  nothing  fairer  than  that  portrait !  In 
Miiil  and  body  it  is  all  true,  Amelie.  ' 

"  flatterer  that  you  are  !  "  said  shg,  laughing.  "  I  could 
almost  wish  that  portrait  would  walk  out  of  its  frame  to 
ili.iiik  you  for  the  care  you  bestowed  upon  its  foolish  little 
'niiiinal." 

"My  care  was  more  than  rewarded!  I  find  in  that  picture 
"ly  l)eau-ideal  of  the  beauty  of  life,  which,  belonging  to  the 
^"ul,  is  true  to  all  ages." 


296 


TiiK  (i()Li)i:x   doc;. 


"The  ^irl  of  twelve  would  have  thanked  you  more  .  ,itiiu. 
siastically  for  that  remark,  I'ierre,  than  I  dare  do,"  rcpjioi 
she. 

"The  thanks  are  due  from  me,  not  from  you,  Amt'lie!  1 
became  your  debtor  for  a  life-long  oblii^ation  when  wIiIk  ;:t 
genius  I  could  do  impossibilities.  Vou  tauglit  me  tiuu  }ar 
adox  wiien  you  let  me  j)aint  that  picture." 

Ame'lie  glanced  ([uickly  u])  at  him.  A  slight  color  caiin- 
and  went  (M1  her  ciieek.  "  Would  that  I  could  do  iiiipos>i- 
bilities,"  said  she,  "  to  thank  you  sufficiently  for  your  kind- 
ness to  Le  Gardeur  and  all  of  us  in  coming  to  Tilly  at  thi^ 
time. 

"  It  would  be  a  novelty,  almost  a  relief,  to  put  Pierre 
Philibert  under  some  obligation  to  us  for  we  all  owe  him, 
would  it  not,  Le  (rardeur  ? "'  continued  she,  clasj)ing  ilic  aim 
of  her  brother,  who  just  now  came  into  the  room.  '•  Wc  wiii 
discharge  a  portion  of  our  debt  to  Pierre  for  this  wekoiiif 
visit  by  a  day  on  the  lake,  —  we  will  make  up  a  waier-pariv, 
What  say  you,  brother?  The  gentlemen  shall  light  Iiivn 
the  ladies  shall  make  tea,  and  we  will  hax'e  guiiais  aii.i 
songs,  and  maybe  a  dance,  brother  !  and  then  a  ^lorinis 
return  home  by  moonlight  !  What  say  you  to  ni\'  jH"- 
gramme,  Le  (lardeur  de  Repentignv  ?  What  suv  \(n;, 
Pierre  Philibert .?  " 

"  It  is  a  good  programme,  sister,  but  lea\-e  me  (nit  ol"  ii. 
I  shall  only  mar  the  pleasure  of  the  rest;  1  will  ni>t  u,u  i> 
the  lake.  I  iiave  been  trying  ever  since  my  return  linmcii 
recognize  'I'illy  ;  everything  looks  to  me  in  an  eclip.-c.  ami 
noth-ing  briglit  as  it  once  was,  not  even  you,  .Aiuelie.  \om 
smile  has  a  curious  touch  of  sadness  in  it  which  does  iiui 
esca[)e  m}'  eyes  ;  accursed  as  they  have  been  of  \\\[v.  .scoiii;; 
things  they  ought  not  to  see,  yet  I  can  see  that,  and  1  kimA 
it,  loo;   1  have  given  you  cause  to  be  sad,  sister." 

"  Hush,  l)rolher  !  it  is  a  sin  against  voiu"  dear  eyes  to 
speak  of  them  thus  !  Tilly  is  as  bright  and  joyons  as  ovit. 
As  for  my  smiles,  if  you  detect  in  them  one  trace  ol  tli.ii 
sadness  you  talk  about,  1  shall  grow  as  melanchol\  as  your- 
vSelf,  and  for  as  little  cause.  Come  !  vou  shall  ciiiilt-'.v 
before  three  days,  brother,  if  you  will  only  help  nie  t^  I't-' 
gay,  that  your  sister  has  the  lightest  heart  in  New  liancc' 


CHKKRI'UI 


CHAPTKR    XXVII. 


CHKKRFUL    YESTERDAYS    AND    CONFIDKNT    TO-MORROWS. 


"f^HK  ladies  retired  to  tlieir  scYeral  rooms,  and  after  a 

I  general  rearranging  of  toilets  descended  to  the  great 
[xirior,  where  they  were  joined  by  Messire  I^a  Lande,  the 
cure  of  the  parish,  a  l)enevolent,  rosy  old  priest,  and  several 
ladies  from  the  neighl)orfiood,  with  two  or  three  old  gentle- 
iiiL'ii  of  a  military  air  and  manner,  retiretl  officers  of  the  army 
who  enjoyed  their  pensions  and  kept  up  their  respectability 
,u  Li  cheaper  rate  in  the  country  than  they  could  do  in  the 
ciiy. 

Felix  Ueaudoin  had  for  the  last  two  hours  kept  the  cooks 
ill  hut  water.  He  was  now  superintending  the  laying  of  the 
table,  resolved  that,  notwithstanding  his  long  absence  from 
liuiiie,  the  dinner  should  be  a  marvellous  success. 

Aiiielie  was  very  beautiful  to-day.  Her  face  was  aglow 
iiith  pure  air  and  exercise,  and  she  felt  hapjn'  in  the  ap})ar- 
ciit  contentment  of  her  brother,  whom  she  met  with  i'ierre 
(11  the  hroad  terrace  of  the  Manor  House. 

She  was  dressed  with  exquisite  neatness,  yet  plainly.  An 
aiiti(|ue  cross  of  gold  formed  her  only  adornment  excei)t  her 
own  charms.  That  cross  she  had  put  on  in  honor  of  Pierre 
l'iiiiii)ert.  He  recognized  it  with  delight  as  a  l)irthday  gift 
'.'I  AiiK'Jie  which  he  had  himself  given  her  during  their  da)s 
"1  jiuenile  companionship,  on  one  of  his  holiday  visits  to 
Tiliy, 

She  was  conscious  of  his  recognition  of  it,  it  brought  a 
'lush  to  her  cheek,  "it  is  in  honor  of  \-oui-  visit,  I'ierre," 
Mid  slie,  frankly,  "that  I  wear  your  gift.  ( )ld  friendship 
I'bts  well  with  me,  does  it  not?  Dut  you  will  lind  more  old 
'I'iciuls  than  me  at  Tilly  who  lia\e  not  forgotten  you." 

"I  am  already  richer  than  C'rcesus,  if  friendship  count  as 
ri^lics,  .Vinelie.     The  hare  had  many  friends,  but  none  at 

297 


298 


THE    G0LI3EN    DOG. 


last ;  I  am  more  fortunate  in  possessing  one  friend  worth  a 
million." 

"Nay,  you  have  the  million  too,  if  good  wishes  ccjuiu  in 
your  favor,  Pierre,  you  are  richer"  —  the  bell  in  ihc  Una; 
of  the  chateau  began  to  ring  for  dinner,  drowning  her  \uic\ 
somewiiat. 

"Thanks  to  the  old  bell  for  Cutting  shc^rt  the  conipliinc;.t. 
Pierre,"  continued  she,  laughing;  "you  don't  know  what  vou 
iiave  lost !  but  in  compensati(jn  you  shall  be  my  ca\  aliL-r. 
and  escort  me  to  the  dining-room." 

She  took  the  arm  of  Pierre,  and  in  a  merry  mood,  whitli 
brought  back  sweet  memories  of  the  past,  their  \(iiiL> 
echoed  again  along  the  old  corridors  of  the  Manor  H(iii>c 
as  they  proceeded  to  the  great  dining-room,  where  the  rt.>; 
of  the  company  were  asseml)ling. 

'Phe  dinner  was  rather  a  stately  affair,  owing  to  the  clctrr- 
mination  of  P'elix  l>eaudoin  to  do  es[)ecial  honoi  lo  liic 
return  home  of  the  family.  How  the  comi)any  ate.  talked, 
and  drank  at  the  hospitable  talkie  need  not  l)e  recorded  here, 
The  good  Cure's  face,  under  the  joint  influence  of  ^nnd 
humor  and  good  cheer,  was  full  as  a  harvest  moon.  IK 
rose  at  last,  folded  his  hands,  and  slowly  repealed  '•ir^wwii' 
,;vv/'//Vrs"."  After  diimer  the  company  withdrew  to  the  hril 
liantly  lighted  drawing-room,  where  conversation,  iiuisii'.  anii 
a  few  games  of  cards  for  such  as  liked  them,  lilleil  up  a 
couple  of  hours  longer. 

'Phe  Lady  de  'Pilly,  seated  beside  Pierre  Philiberi  on  the 
sofa,  conversed  with  him  in  a  pleasant  strain,  wiiile  the 
Cure,  with  a  couple  of  old  dowagers  in  turbans,  and  an  niii 
veteran  ollicer  of  the  colonial  marine,  long  stranded  on  a  lee 
shore,  formed  a  c[uartette  at  cards. 

'Phese  were  steady  enthusiasts  of  whist  and  |ii(|uei, 
such  as  are  only  to  Int  found  in  small  country  circ  !i'->  wlie;. 
societ)'  is  scarce  and  anuisemonts  few.  They  had  luel  a> 
partneis  or  antagonists,  and  ])la\ed,  laughed,  and  wran^ieJ 
over  si.xpenny  stakes  and  odtl  tricks  and  honors,  e\\  i}  \uek 
for  a  (|uart('r  of  a  century,  and  would  willingly  ha\e  gtme  v\\ 
playing  till  the  day  of  judgment  without  a  change  ol  par!- 
ners  if  they  could  have  trumped  death  and  won  the  odd  trak 
of  him. 

Pierre    recollecteil    havinir   seen    these    same    old    hieiul? 


|,iiul  his  ears  c; 


CHEERFUL    VESTERDAVS, 


299 


iscated  at  the  same  card-table  during  his  earliest  visits  to 
jtiiL'  Manor  House.  He  recalled  the  fact  to  the  Lady  de 
Tillv.  who  laughed  and  said  her  old  friends  had  lived  so 
liuns;  in  the  company  of  the  kings  and  queens  that  formed 
hilt;  paste-board  Court  of  the  Kingdom  of  Cocagne  that  they 
ciuld  relish  no  meaner  amusement  than  one  which  royalty, 
|a:inou,t;ii  nuid,  had  the  credit  of  introducing. 

Amclie  devoted  herself  to  the  task  of  cheering  her  some- 

Iwiiat  moody  brother.     She  sat  beside  him,  resting  her  hand 

iwiih  sisterly  affection   upon    his  shoulder,  while   in    a   low, 

v'Aeul  \oice  slie  talked  to  him,  adroitly  touching  those  topics 

njv  which  she  knew  awoke  pleasurable  associations  in  his 

;-i;ml.     Her  words  were  sweet  as  manna  and  full  of  womanly 

;di(lt'rnL'->s  and  sympathy,  skilfully   wrapped  in  a  strain  of 

|;;a!oty  like    a    bridal    veil    which    covers    the    tears   of    the 

I'ionc  I'hilibert's  eyes  involuntarily  turned  towards  her, 

[ami  his  ears  caught  much  of  what  she  said.     He  was  a^ton- 

:icd  at  the  grace  and  perfection  of  her  language ;  it  seemed 

jw  him  like  a  strain  of  music  tilled   with  every  melody  of 

cuih  and    heaven,   surpassing   poets   in   beauty  of  diction, 

philosophers   in   truth, — ^  and  in  purity  of  affection,   all  the 

JMints  and  sweetest  women  of  whom  he  had  ever  read. 

ilor  beauty,  her  vivacity,  her  modest   reticences,  and  her 

Kiilicale  tact  in  addressing  the  captious  spirit  df  I.e  (lardeur, 

iiiled  Pierre   with   admiration.      He   could   at   that    moment 

[iiivi.'  kiiL'll  at  her  feet  and  worshipped  in  her  the  realization 

|uf  every  image  which  his  imagination  had  ever  formed  of  a 

pLitect  woman. 

Now  and  then  she  played  on  the  harp  for  T.e  (lardeur 
ItliL' airs  which  she  knew  he  liked  best.  liis  sombre  mood 
ludded  to  her  fond  exertions,  and  she  had  the  reward  of 
iilnuinii,-  ;U  last  a  smile  from  his  eyes  as  well  as  from  his 
iips.  The  last  she  knew  might  be  simulated,  the  former  she 
Wl  was  real,  for  the  smile  of  the  eye  is  ilie  llasli  of  the  joy 
Uindli'd  in  the  glad  heart. 

1a' (lardeur  was  not  dull  noi  ungrateful :  he  read  clearly 
i^iiDu^h  the  loving  purpcjse  of  his  sister.  His  brow  cleared 
-I'  mulcr  her  sunshine.  He  smiled,  he  laughed;  and 
Aiiielic  hatl  the  exquisite  joy  of  believing  she  had  gained  a 
\i'ti)rv  over  the  dark  spirit  that  had  taken  possession  of  jiis 


300 


THE  goldb:x   noG. 


soul,  although  the  hollow  laugh  struck  the  ear  of  pit-r^i 
Philibert  with  a  more  uncertain  sound  than  that  whii  J 
fluttered  the  fond   hopes  of  Anie'lie. 

Anielie  looked  towards  Pierre,  and  saw  his  eves  tixcdl 
upon  her  with  that  look  which  fills  every  woman  with  anl 
emotion  almost  painful  in  its  excess  of  pleasure  when  nrstl 
she  meets  it — that  unmistakable  glance  from  the  eve.-,  otj 
man  who,  she  is  i)roud  to  perceive,  has  singled  her  out  fnjin 
all  other  women  for  his  love  and  homage. 

Her  face  became  of  a  deep  glow  in  spite  of  her  clloiisto) 
look  calm  and  cold  ;  she  feared  Pierre  might  ha\  c  iiiisinu-rl 
preted  her  vi\acity  of  speech  and  manner.  .Sudden  (listribij 
of  herself  cameo  ver  her  in  his  j)resence, — the  llow  (jf  her| 
conversation  was  embarrassed,  and  almost  ceased. 

To  extricate  herself  from  her  momentary  confusion,  wiuuil 
she  was  very  conscious  had  not  escaped  the  ol)ser\atiuii  i\ 
Pierre, —  and  the  thought  of  that  confused  her  still  iiioic,-| 
she  rose  and  went  to  tiie  harpsichord,  to  reco\er  her  conij 
posure  by  singing  a  sweet  song  of  her  own  coinpositionj 
written  in  the  soft  dialect  of  Provence,  the  /.(r//x^fh\/i>(;  fiili  of| 
the  sweet  sadness  of  a  tender,  impassioned  love. 

Her  voice,  tremulous  in  its  power.  Howed  in  a  thousaiidl 
harmonies  on  the  enraptured  ears  of  her  listeners.  Kvcnl 
tile  veteran  card-players  left  a  game  of  whist  unlinisheil,  to| 
cluster  round  the  angelic  singer. 

Pierre  IMiilibert  sat  like  one  in  a  trance.  He  1()\  ed  niu>ic,i 
and  understood  it  passing  well.  He  had  heard  all  the  rarej 
\oices  which  Paris  prided  itself  in  the  possession  of.  Ini;  k\ 
thought  he  had  never  known  what  music  was  till  iio.v.  Ilisj 
heart  throbbed  in  svmpathv  with  everv  inlleclion  df  ihel 
voice  of  Amelie,  which  went  through  him  like  a  sweet  ^jull 
of  enchantment.  It  was  tiie  voice  of  a  di.sembodied  >\n\tl 
singing  in  the  language  of  earth,  whicli  changed  at  last  miol 
a  benediction  and  good-night  for  the  i)arling  guests,  wlm,  ,itj 
an  earlier  hour  than  usual,  out  of  consiileralion  for  vmI 
fatigue  of  their  iiosts,  took  their  leave  of  the  Mauoi  llnUM'J 
and  its  hospitable  inmates. 

The  family,  as  families  will  do  ujion  the  departure  ol  thnrj 
gue.sts,  drew   up    in   a   narrower  circle   rouncl   the   tire  iliil 
bles.sed  circle  of  freedom  and  confidence  which  l)elon;j:s  oiii 
to  happy  households.      The  novelty  of  the  situation  ke'pt  upj 


CUKI'.Kia'I.    VKSTi:Ki)A\'S. 


Ithe  interest  of  the  clay,  and  they  sat  and  conversed  until  a 
lint'  hour. 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  reclined  comfortably  in   her  fauteuil. 

ikini;  with  _2:;()od-natured  coini)!acenc\-  upon  the  little  _nrou]) 

lioide  lur.      Anielie,   sitting"   on   a   stool,  reclined    her   head 

l^aiii^l  llie  bosom   of    her    aunt,   whose   arm   end^raced   hei' 

,,>L'lv  and  lovin<i;ly  as  she   listened  with  absorbing;"  ink-rest 

[(,,  ,ri  animated  conversation  between  her  aunt  and   I'ierrc 

I'iniihcrt. 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  drew  I'ierre  out  to  talk  of  his  travels, 

li',  sliulies,    and    his    military   career,    of    which    hv    spoke 

Ir.uiklv  and  modestly.      His  hij^h  principles  won  her  admira- 

Rionitlic  chixalry  and  loyalty  of  his  character,  minified  with 

,c  humanity  of  the  true  soldier,  touched  a  chord  in  her  own 

jicart.  .stirring  within   her  the   sympathies  of  a  nature  akin 

10  his. 

The  presence  of  Pierre  Philibert,  .so  unforeseen  at  the  old 

Manor  Mouse,  seemed  to  Amelie  the  work  of  Providence  for 

;oo(l  and  great  end --the  reformation  of  her  brother.      If 

khf  dared  to  think  of  herself  in  connection  with  him  it  was 

idi  fear   and    trend)ling,    as   a   saint   on    earth    receives   a 

j)i,iiilic  \ision  that  may  only  be  realized   in    Heaven. 

.\melie.  with  peculiar  tact,  sought  to  entangle  Le  Gardeur's 
|hoiii;hts  in  an  elaborate  cobweb  of  occupations  ri\alling  that 
ci  Aracline,  which  she  had  woven  to  catch  e\'ery  leisure 
tour  of  ills,  so  as  to  leave  him  no  time  to  brood  o\er  the 
fiicasures  of  the  Palace  of  the  Intendant  or  the  charms  of 
^ni^cjique  des  AFeloises. 

lere  were  golden   threads  too  in   the  network  in  which 
|i.c  hoped  to  entangle  him  :   long  rides  to  the  neighboring 
i^niories,  where  bright  eves  and  laughing  lips  were  ready 
10  txpel  every  shadow  of   care  from   the   mo.st  dejected  of 
ticii  much  more  from  a  handsome  gallant   like  Le  (lardeur 
pi' Rcpcntigny,  whose  presence  at  any  of  these  old   manors 
|ir.t  ihcir  fair  inmates  at  once  in  holida}-  trim  and  in  holida\- 
n-iiiior:   thrre   were    shorter   walks    through    the    park    and 
jiiiiii.iin  of  Tillv,  where  she  intended  to  botanize  and  sketch. 
pU'von  tish  and  hu.nl  with  Le  (lardeur  and  Pierre,  although. 
1  to  say.  .Vmelie's  share  in  hunting  would  only  l.>e  to  ride 
pr  sure-footed    pony   and   look   at   her  companions;    there 
hh'  vigils  to  friends  far  and  near,  and  vi.sits  in  return  to  the 


•JIIIC    (iOI.DKN     DOG. 


Manor  House,  and  a  j^rand  excursion  of  all   to  tlu   hki  . 
Tilly  in  boats,  -   they  would  colonize  its  little  inland  f(,r 
day,  set  up  tents,  make  a  i;o\-ernor  and  iniendant.  ptjihap>| 
a   king   and   queen,    and   forget  tiie   world   till    their  let:;- 
home. 

This  elal)orate  scheme  secured  the  approbation  of  t^> 
Lady  de  Tilly,  who  had,  in  truth,  contributed  part  of  ji,  i,, 
(lardeur  said  he  was  a  poor  (ly  whom  they  were  rcsoiwd  t' 
catch  and  j^in  to  the  wall  of  a  clialcan  r/i  lis/\v:;ii.\  hut  in 
would  e;iter  the  web  without  a  l)uzz  of  opposition  on  comii 
tion  that  Pierre  would  join  him.      So  it  was  all  selilLcl, 

Amelie  did  not  venture  again  that  night  to  encounter  thei 
eyes  of  Pierre  Philibert,  — she  needed  more  courage  thanhiicl 
felt  just  now  to  do  that ;  l)ut  in  secret  she  blessed  him,  andl 
treasured  those  fond  looks  of  ids  in  her  heart,  never  to  l,e| 
forgotten  any  more.  When  she  retired  to  her  own  chamltrj 
and  was  alone,  she  threw  heiself  in  passionate  al)an(l(i:ini':r.t| 
before  the  altar  in  her  little  oratory,  which  she  had  crov.iiclj 
with  flowers  to  mark  her  gladness.  She  poured  out  her  |iiiiJ 
soul  in  in\'()cations  of  bles-^ings  upon  Pierre  Philiherl  anii| 
upon  her  brother  and  all  the  house.  The  golden  l)ea(l 
her  rosary  lingered  long  in  her  loving  lingers  thai  niu^ht.  aj 
she  repeated  over  and  over  her  accustomed  prayers  for  iiisj 
safety  and  welfare. 

The  sun  rose  gloriously  next  morning  ovc.'r  the  pecn 
woods  and  still  greener  meadows  of  'Pillv.  The  atuio^nlk-rel 
was  soft  and  pure;  it  had  been  washed  clean  of  ail 
impurities  l)y  a  few  showers  in  the  night.  I'Aery  (ihicctj 
seeuKid  nearer  and  clearer  to  the  eye,  while  the  (lelicioiisj 
odor  of  fresh  (Icr.vers  filled  the  whole  air  with  fragiatieo. 

The  trees,  rocks,  waters,  and  green  slopes  stood  out  witii 
marvel'ous  precision  of  outline,  as  if  cut  with  a  keen  kiiift,'] 
No  fringe  of  haze  surrounded  them,  as  in  a  drouglu  nr  a> 
the  evening  when  the  air  is  tilled  with  the  shimmering; nf ! 
day  dust  which  follows  the  sun's  chariot  in  his  course  rmind 
the  world. 

Every  object,  great  and  small,  seemed  magnilied  to  welj 
come  Pierre  Philibert,  who  was  up  betimes  this  morninp;  and 
out  in  the  pure  air  viewing  the  old  familiar  scenes. 

With  what  delight  he  recognized  each  favorite  sr'i'j 
There  was    the    cluster    of    trees    which    crowned    a  pi^'"' 


CHEKKFUL    VESTERDAVS. 


303 


ontorv  overlooking;  the  St.  Lawrence  where  he  and  T,e 
Gardeur  had  stormed  the  eacjle's  ncsl.  In  that  sweep  of 
forest  the  deer  used  to  lorowse  and  the  fawns  crouch  in  the 
lon^'  ferns.  Upon  yonder  breezy  hill  they  used  to  sit  and 
count  the  sails  turning  alternately  bright  and  dark  as  the 
vessels  tacked  up  the  broad  river.  There  was  a  stretch  of 
;recn  lawn,  still  green  as  it  was  in  his  memory  -  how  ever- 
j  iastinij  are  (iod's  colors  !  'I'here  he  had  taught  Amelie  to 
ridf.  and,  holding  fast,  ran  by  her  side,  keei)ing  pace  with 
herllving  Indian  pony.  How  beautiful  and  fresh  the  picture 
of  her  remained  in  his  memory  !  —  the  soft  white  dress  she 
wore,  her  black  hair  streaming  over  her  shoulders,  her  dark 
eves  tiashing  delight,  her  merry  laugh  rivalling  the  trill  of 
the  i)lackbird  which  Hew  over  their  heads  chattering  for  very 
jov.  liefore  him  lay  the  pretty  brook  with  its  rustic  bridge 
reflecting  itself  in  the  clear  water  as  in  a  mirror.  That  path 
ilonj;  the  bank  led  down  to  the  willows  where  the  l)ig  mossy 
jt-nes  lav  in  the  stream  and  the  sihery  salmon  and  speckled 
tnut  lav  fanning  the  water  gently  with  their  fins  as  they 
contemplated  their  shadows  on  the  smooth,  sandy  bottom. 

rierre  Philibert  sat  down  on  a  stone  by  the  side  of  the 
brouk  and  watched  the  shoals  of  minnows  move  about  in 
!  little  battalions,  wheeling  like  soldiers  to  the  right  or  left  at 
a  wave  of  the  hand.  Uut  his  thoughts  were  running  in  a 
circle  of  (|uestions  and  enigmas  for  which  he  found  neither 
end  nor  answer. 

For  the  hundredth  time  Pierre  proposed  to  himself  the 
tormenting  enigma,  harder,  he  thought,  to  solve  than  any 
prohleni  of  mathematics,  —  for  it  was  the  riddle  of  his  life; 
'What  thoughts  are  truly  in  the  heart  of  Amt'lie  de  Repen- 
tiijny  respecting  me?  Does  she  recollect  me  only  as  her 
bnther's  companion,  who  may  ix^ssil)ly  have  some  claim 
!  upon  her  friendship,  but  none  upon  her  love  .^  "  His  imagina- 
tion pictured  every  look  she  had  given  him  since  his  return. 
Not  all !  Oh,  Pierre  IMiilibert !  the  looks  you  would  have 
?iven  worlds  to  catch,  vou  were  unconscious  of !  F,verv 
word  she  had  spoken,  the  soft  inllection  of  every  s\llable 
[•^'fher  siKery  voice  lingered  in  his  ear.  He  had  caught 
meanings  where  perhaps  no  meaning  was,  and  missed  the 
l<ey  to  others  which  he  knew  were  there  -  never,  perhaps, 
i  to  l)L'  ix'\t.aled  to  him.      Put   although   he  (piestioned  in  the 


304 


THE    G()I,I)i:X    !)()(;. 


name  of  love,  and  found  many  divine  echoes  in  her  words. 
imperceptible  to  every  ear  but  his  own,  he  could  not  wholly 
solve  the  riddle  of  his  life.      Still  he  ho]?ed. 

"  If  love  creates  love,  as  some  say  it  does,"  thought  he, 
"  Amelie  de  Repenti<ijny  cannot  be  indifferent  to  a  passion 
which  governs  every  impulse  of  my  being  !  l!iit  i>  th-u 
any  especial  merit  in  loving  her  whom  all  the  world  tannn; 
help  admiring  ecjually  with  myself  ?  1  am  presumptuous  to 
tiiink  so  !  -  and  more  presumptuous  still  to  expect,  after  - 
many  years  of  separation  and  forgetfulness,  that  her  Juaii. 
so  loving  and  so  sympathetic,  has  not  already  bestowed  it^ 
affection  upon  some  one  more  fortunate  than  me." 

While  Pierre  tormented  himself  with  these  sharp  thorn^ 
of  doubt,  —  and  of  hopes  painful  as  doubts,  —  little  diclhc 
think  what  a  brave,  loving  spirit  was  hid  under  the  silken 
vesture  of  Amelie  de  Repentigny,  and  how  hard  was  her 
struggle  to  conceal  from  his  eyes  those  tender  regards, 
which,  with  over-delicacy,  she  accounted  censurable  IjecauM 
they  were  wholly  spontaneous. 

He  little  thought  how  entirely  his  image  had  filled  her 
heart  during  those  vears  when  she  dreamed  of  him  in  ti' 
quiet  cloister,  living  in  a  world  of  bright  imaginings  of  her 
own  ;  how  she  had  prayed  for  his  safety  and  welfare  as  she 
would  have  prayed  for  the  soul  of  one  dead, —  ne\er  thinkin;', 
or  even  hoping,  to  see  him  again. 

Pierre  had  become  to  her  as  one  of  the  disembodied  saints 
or  angels  whose  pictures  looked  down  from  the  wall  of  the 
Convent  chapel — the  bright  angel  of  the  Annunciaiioii  nr 
the  youthful  J]aptist  proclaiming  the  way  of  the  I.ord.  Now 
that  Pierre  Philibert  was  alive  in  the  Hesh, — a  man,  heauii- 
ful,  brave,  honorable,  and  worthy  of  any  woman's  love. 
Amelie  was  frightened.  She  had  not  looked  for  that,  aiii; 
yet  it  had  come  upon  her.  And,  although  trembling-,  slit 
was  glad  and  proud  to  find  she  had  been  rcmemberetl  hvtlu 
brave  youth,  who  recognized  in  the  perfect  woman  the  un 
he  had  so  ardently  lo\ed  as  a  boy. 

Did  he  love  her  still  ?  Woman's  heart  is  cpiicker  t' 
apprehend  all  possibilities  than  man's.  She  had  caught  ;i 
look  once  or  twice  in  the  eyes  of  Pierre  Philibert  whim 
thrilled  the  inmost  fibres  of  her  being;  she  had  deteclai 
his  ardent  admiration.     Was  she  offended?     Far  from  it' 


ciii:kkful  vksti-.kd.ws. 


305 


\nd  althoun;h  her  check  had  Hushed  deeply  red,  and  her 
pulses  ihrobhed  liard  at  the  sudden  consciousness  that 
Pierre  I'h''ibert  admired,  nay,  more,  -she  could  not  conceal 
;t  from  herself,  -  she  knew  that  ni[;ht  that  he  loved  her ! 
She  would  not  have  foregone  that  moment  of  revelation  for 
,i!l  thai  the  wcjrld  had  to  offer. 

She  would  gladly  at  that  moment  of  discovery  have  fled 
:o  her  own  apartment  and  cried  f(jr  joy,  but  she  dared  not  ; 
^he  ueinbled  lest  his  eyes,  if  she  looked  up,  should  discover 
the  secret  of  her  own.  She  had  an  overpowering  conscious- 
ness that  she  stood  upon  the  brink  of  her  fate ;  that  ere 
JDiij:;  that  look  of  his  would  be  followed  by  words  blessed, 
hoped-for  words,  from  the  lips  of  Pierre  IMiilibert !  words 
which  would  be  the  pledge  and  assurance  to  her  of  that 
love  which  was  hereafter  to  be  the  joy — it  might  be  the 
despair,  but  in  any  case  the  all  in  all  of  her  life  forever. 

Ainelie  had  not  yet  realized  the  truth  that  love  is  the 
stieni^nh,  not  the  weakness  of  woman  ;  and  that  the  boldness 
1)1  the  man  is  rank  cowardice  in  comparison  with  the  bravery 
she  is  capable  of,  and  the  sacrifices  she  will  make  for  the 
bAke  of  the  man  who  has  won  her  heart. 

God  locks  up  in  a  golden  casket  of  modesty  the  yearnings 
of  a  woman's  heart ;  but  when  the  hand  in  which  he  has 
placed  the  key  that  opens  it  calls  forth  her  glorified  affec- 
tions, they  come  out  like  the  strong  angels,  and  hold  back 
the  winds  that  blow  from  the  four  corners  of  the  earth  that 
they  may  not  hurt  the  man  whose  forehead  is  sealed  with 
the  kiss  of  her  acknowledged  love. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 


A 


A    DAY    AT    THE    MANOR    HOUSE. 

Mf^LIK,  after  a  night  of  wakefulness  and  wrestling 
with  a  tumult  of  new  thoughts  and  emotions,  n,, 
longer  dreams,  but  realities  of  life,  —  dressed  herselt  in,, 
light  morning  costume,  which,  simple  as  it  was,  bore  ihc 
touch  of  her  graceful  hand  and  perfect  taste.  Willi  a  hniad 
brimmed  straw  hat  set  upon  her  dark  tresses,  which  wx-n 
knotted  with  careless  care  in  r.  blue  ribbon,  she  descendwl 
the  steps  of  the  Manor  House.  There  was  a  deep  bloom 
upon  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  looked  like  foiuUains  of  ligli: 
and  gladness,  running  over  to  bless  all  beholders. 

She  inquired  of  Felix  Ueaudoin  of  her  brother.  The  old 
majordomo,  with  a  significant  look,  informed  her  llnu 
Monsieur  Le  Oardeur  had  just  ordered  his  horse  to  ride  lo 
the  village.  He  had  first  called  for  a  decanter  of  Cognac, 
and  when  it  was  brought  to  him  he  suddenly  thrust  it  back 
and  would  not  taste  it.  "He  would  not  drink  even  Juve'i 
nectar  in  the  Manor  House,  he  ^'d;  but  would  go  down 
to  the  village,  where  Satan  mixed  the  drink  for  thirsty  soul- 
like his  !  Poor  Le  Gardeur  !  "  continued  Felix,  "  you  m\>i 
not  let  him  go  to  the  village  this  morning,  mademoiselle!" 

Amelie  was  startled  at  this  information.  She  hastened 
at  once  to  seek  her  brother,  whom  she  found  walkinL,^  ini|)a 
tiently  in  the  garden,  slashing  the  heads  off  the  popi)ies  and 
dahlias  within  reach  of  his  riding-whip.  He  was  eciuipped 
for  a  ride,  and  waited  the  coming  of  the  groom  with  hi> 
horse. 

Amt'lie  ran  up,  and  clasping  his  arms  with  both  ban  l>  a- 
she  looked  up  in  his  face  with  a  smile,  exclaimed.  '•  H"  hk 
go  to  the  village  yet.  Le  (lardeur  !     Wait  for  us  '.  " 

"Not  go  to  the  village  yet,  Amelie.^"  rejilied  be;  "win- 
not  ?  I  shall  return  for  breakfast,  although  1  have  no  appe- 
tite.    I  thought  a  ride  to  the  village  would  give  me  one." 

306 


A     F)AV     A  I      I  III;     MANOR     IJOISK 


307 


■W.iii  until  after  l)riMkfast,  brothei,  wlu'ii  \vc  will  all  ^o 
•uji  \()U  to  meet  our  friends  who  come  this  morninj;  to   Tilly, 

our  cousin    Ileloise  cle   Lothiniere   is  cominj;  to  see  you 
and  Pierre  Philibert ;   you   must  be  there  to  welcome  her. 
:;.ill.inls  are  too  scarce  to  allow  her  to  spare  the  handsomest 
of  all.  my  own  brother  ! '' 

Aiiiclie  di\'ined  truly  from  I,e  (lardeur's  restless  eyes  and 
iiaj,'^.ir(!  Icjok  that  a  herce  conflict  was  j^oinij;  on  in  his 
broa.'ii  hclween  duty  and  desire,  whether  he  should  remain 
,u  hume,  or  <^o  to  the  villa^jje  to  jilLUif^e  ai^ain  into  the  sea  of 
(lis>i])ation  out  of  which  he  had  just  been  drawn  to  land 
h.ilfdniwiicd  and  utterly  desperate. 

Ainclie  resolved  not  to  leave  his  side,  but  to  cleave  to  him. 
,111(1  inch  by  inch  to  hjj;ht  the  demons  which  possessed  him 
iiniil  she  j];ot  the  victory. 

\x  (lardeur  looked  fondly  in  the  face  of  Aint'lie.  He 
rc.ul  her  thoughts,  and  was  \ery  conscious  wh\-  she  wished 
him  iKJt  to  go  to  the  village.  His  feelings  gave  way  before 
her  love  and  tenderness.  He  suddenly  embraced  her  and 
kis^ed  her  cheeks,  while  the  tears  stood  welling  in  his  eyes. 
•1  am  not  worthy  of  you,  Amc'lie,"  said  he;  **  so  much  sis- 
terly care  is  lost  on  nie  I " 

•Oh.  say  not  that,  brother,"  replied  she,  kissing  him 
I'liiullv  in  return.  "  I  would  gi\e  my  life  to  save  you,  ()  niv 
bnjiher !  " 

Ainelie  was  greatly  moved,  and  for  a  time  unable  to  speak 
further;  she  laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  soi)bed 
audibly,  Her  love  gained  the  victory  where  remonstrance 
.uul  opposition  would  have  lost  it. 

'■  \'()U  have  won  the  day,  Amelie  !  "  said  he;  "  I  will  not 
,;'o  to  the  village  except  with  you.  \'ou  are  the  best  and 
truest  liirl  in  all  Christendom  !  Why  is  there  no  other  like 
}<iii?  If  there  were,  this  curse  had  not  come  upon  nie,  nor 
iliis  trial  upon  you,  .Amelie  1  \'()U  are  my  good  angel,  and  I 
"ill  try,  oh,  so  faithfully  try,  to  be  guided  by  you  I  If  you 
■''lil.  you  will  at  least  ha\e  done  all  and  more  than  your 
duty  towards  your  erring  brother." 

"  be  biun  I  "'  cried  he  to  the  grcxjui  who  had  brought  his 
"orsc.  and  to  whom  he  threw  the  whip  which  had  nuule 
■-uch  h.ivoc  among  the  llower.s,  "lead  llhuk  ("a-sar  to  the 
-lablc  a'Min  1  and  hark  vou  !   when  I  bid  vou  bring  him  out 


3o8 


iiii':  (i()Fj)i;\    !)()(;. 


in  the  early  morning  another  time,  lead  him  to  me  iiiil)iiil!,(| 
and  unsaddled,  with  only  a  halter  on  his  head,  thai  1  in,.; 
ride  as  a  clown,  not  as  a  gentleman  ! "' 

Le  Brun  stared  at  this  speech,  and  finally  regarded  ii  ,i> 
a  capital  joke,  or  else,  as  he  whispered  to  his  fellow-groonis 
in  the  stable,  he  ])elieved  his  young  master  had  jronc 
mad. 

"  Pierre  IMiililiert,"  continued  Amelie,  "  is  down  al  the 
sahiion  pool.  Let  us  join  him,  I,e  Gardeur,  and  hid  him 
good  morning  once  more  at  Tilly." 

Amelie,  overjoyed  at  her  victory,  tripped  gaily  by  the  ^i(ir 
of  lier  brother,  and  jiresently  two  friendly  hands,  the  lianii> 
of  rierre  IMiilibert,  were  extended  to  greet  hor  and  I  ,• 
(lardeur. 

'I'he  hand  of  Ame'lie  was  retained  for  a  moment  in  iliai  m 
Pierre  I'hilibert,  sending  the  blood  to  her  cheeks.  There  is 
a  magnetic  touch  in  loving  lingers  which  is  ne\er  iiiisiakrn, 
though  their  contact  be  but  for  a  second  of  time:  il  am  i 
l)ates  the  stror.g  ;n'asp  of  love  which  will  ere  long  eiiihi.ui' 
body  and  soul  in  adamantine  chains  of  a  union  not  to  he 
l)roken  even  by  death. 

If  Pierre  Philibert  retained  the  hand  of  Amelie  for  one 
second  longer  than  mere  friendship  required  of  him,  no  one 
perceived  it  but  (Hod  and  themselves.  Pierre  felt  il  like  a 
revelation  -the  hand  of  Amelie  yielding  timidly.  l)ut  n>i 
unwillingly,  to  his  manly  grasp.  He  looked  in  her  face, 
Her  eyes  were  averted,  and  she  withdrew  her  hand  quietly 
but  gently,  as  not  upbraiding  him. 

That  moment  of  time  flashed  a  new  influence  uprm  both 
their  lives:  it  was  the  silent  recognition  that  each  \va> 
henceforth  conscious  of  the  special   regard  of  the  other. 

There  are  moments  which  contain  the  whole  (luintessetKv 
of  our  lives, — our  loves,  our  hopes,  our  failures,  in  oneeeii 
centrated  drop  of  hapj^iness  or  misery.  We  look  liehiml  ib 
and  see  that  our  whole  past  has  led  up  to  that  inrmite.Miiia! 
fraction  of  time  which  is  the  consummation  of  the  past  in 
the  present,  the  end  of  the  old  and  the  beginiiiiiij,  I'l  i''^' 
new.  We  look  forward  from  the  vantage  ground  ol  ilu'  pri- 
enl,  and    the  world    of    a    new    revelation    lies    betore   n^ 

Pierre  IMiilibert  was  conscious  from  that  iiionieiii  that 
Amelie  de  Re[)entigny  was  not  indifferent  to  him,      nay,  ne 


A     DAV    AT    TlIK    MANOR     IK   TSE. 


309 


on   not  to  III' 


h,ul  ;i  mound  of  liopc  that  in  time  she  would  lisuMi  to  his 
ble.ulin^s,  and  at  last  bestow  on  him  the  g^ft  of  her  priceless 

luve. 

Mis  hopes  were  sure  hopes,  although  he  did  not  dar^  to 
^ive  himself  the  sweet  assurance  of  it,  nor  did  Aniclie  her- 
nlf  as  yet  suspect  how  far  her  heart  was  irre\ocably 
wedded  to  Pierre   Philibert. 

Doep  as  was  the  impression  of  that  nH)ment  upon  both 
nf  ihcm.  neither  Philibert  nor  Amelie  yielded  to  its  inllu- 
ciicc  more  than  to  lapse  into  a  momentary  silence,  which 
w.is  iclic\ed  by  Le  Gardeur,  who,  suspecting  not  tiie  cause, 

iiav.  thinking  it  was  on  his  account  that  his  com|)anions 
,,Lie  s(i  unaccountably  grave  and  still,  kindly  endeavored 
tn  force  the  conversation  upon  a  number  of  interesting 
i.ipics.  and  directed  the  attention  of  I'hilibert  to  various 
jiiiints  of  the  landscape  which  suggested  reminiscences  of 
ills  formci'  visits  to  Tilly. 

The  e(|iiilibrium  of  conversation  was  restored,  and  the 
•Jiree.  silting  down  on  a  long,  flat  stone,  a  boulder  which 
li.id  dropped  millions  of  \ears  before  out  of  an  iceberg  as  it 
MJled  .slowlv  over  the  iilacial  ocean  which  then  co\'ered  the 
;'jire  (if  New  l''rance,  commenced  tt)  talk  o\er  Amelie's  pro- 
:  inime  of  the  prexious  night,  the  amusements  she  had 
pKiiiiu'd  for  the  week,  the  friends  in  all  quarters  they  were 
1.1  vi.iit,  and  the  friends  from  all  (piarters  they  were  to  re- 
aive  at  the  Manor  House.  'I'hese  topics  formed  a  source 
lit  liuitful  comment,  as  couNersation  on  our  li lends  always 
lii's.  If  the  sun  shone  hot  and  lierce  at  nocjntide  in  the 
ilii:;-(hiys.  they  would  enjoy  the  cool  shade  of  tiie  arbors 
.'.ith  books  and  coiu'eisation  ;  they  woiiUl  ride  in  the  f(  rest, 
'ir  eiiihark  in  their  canoes  for  a  row  up  the  bright  little 
nvrr;  tln'ie  would  be  tlinners  and  diversions  for  the  day, 
iiiiiNic  ami  dancing  for  the  night. 

I  he  spirits  of  the  inmates  of  the  Manor  ll>)use  could  not 
iiilp  liut  be  kei'it  up  bv  these  expedients,  and  .Amelie  llat- 
it-icd  JKisi'lf  that  she  would  (piite  succeed  in  dissipating  the 
J"iimy  thoughts  which  occupied  the  mind  of  Le  (Jardeur. 

I  hi'v  sal  on  the  stone  by  the  biook-side  for  an  hour,  con- 
vnsiii:;  pleasantlv  while  tlie\  watched  the  speckled  trout 
•''"t  like  silver  arrows  spotteil  with  blooil  in  the  clear 
piiul. 


3IO 


THK    GOLDEN    DOG. 


/ 


Le  Oardeur  strove  to  be  ii;ay,  and  teased  Anie'lic  in  plav- 
fully  criticizing  her  proj^ramnie,  and,  half  in  earnest,  hail  in 
jest,  arguing  for  the  superior  attractions  of  the  I'ahu  c  of  ili^ 
Intendant  to  those  of  tiie  Manor  House  of  Tilly,  lie  san 
the  water  standing  in  her  eyes,  when  a  consciousness  uf 
what  must  he  her  feelings  seized  him  ;  he  drew  lici  to  iii, 
side,  asked  her  forgiveness,  and  wished  fire  were  st,:i  lo  iji,. 
Palace  and  himself  in  the  midst  of  it  !  He  deser\id  ii  for 
wounding,  even  in  jest,  the  heart  of  the  best  and  n(jhlcsi 
sister  in  the  world. 

"  I  am  not  wounded,  dear  Le  Gardeur,"  replied  slic, 
softly;  "1  knew  you  were  only  in  jest.  My  f(K)li,sli  hear; 
is  so  sensitive  to  all  mention  of  the  Palace  and  its  ocm  upaiiiv 
in  connection  with  you,  that  I  could  not  even  take  in  ]v>\ 
what  was  so  like  truth." 

"  l''orgive  me,  1  will  never  mention  the  Palace  u,  \n. 
again,  Amelie,  e.xce|)t  to  repeat  the  malediction  1  Ikui 
bestowed  upon  it  a  thousand  times  an  hour  since  I  lelurind 
to  Tilly." 

"My  own  brave  brother!"  exclaimed  she,  einiiraeiiiL' 
him,  "  now   I  am  happy  !  " 


The  shrill  notes  of  a  bugle  were  heard  soundinu 


nil!' 


ilary  call  to  breakfast,  it  was  the  special  pri\ilege  ot  an  n\\ 
servitor  of  the  family,  who  had  l)een  a  trum])eiei  in  ilu 
troo]?  of  the  Seigneur  of  Tilly,  to  summon  the  fainil\  ni  liu- 
Manor  Mouse  in  that  manner  to  breakfast  onlv.  i'lie  did 
tiumpeter  iiad  solicited  long  to  be  allowed  to  souiul  liir 
reveille  at  break  of  day,  but  the  good  Lady  de  Tilly  had 
too  much  regard  for  the  repose  of  tlie  inmates  ot  lui  hdihr 
to  consent  to  any  such  untimely  waking  of  liu'm  In^u  ilnii 
morning  slumbers. 

The  old,  familiar  call  was  recogniz(,'d  by  Pliilibrrt.  wli" 
reminded  Amelie  of  a  day  when  .Molus  (the  am  ieni  tiiiiii 
petei'  \)()\\'  that  windy  sobri(|uet)  had  ac(~()mpani(  il  tluiii 
on  a  long  ramble  in  the  forest,  how,  the  day  beinu  warm. 
the  old  man  fell  asleep  under  a  comfortable  sliadr,  \\\v\c 
the  three  ciiildren  straggled  off  into  the  depths  of  the  \\(wd.\ 
where  they  were  speedily  los!.. 

"  I  remember  it  like  yesterday,  I'ierre,"  exclaimed  \iiie!ii'. 
sparkling  at  the  reminiscence  ;  "  1  recollect  how  1  wept  aiul 
wrung   my    hands,  tired  out,   hungry,  and   forlorn,  with   iiiv 


A    DAY    AT    THE    MANOR    HOUSE, 


311 


el  10  m  plav- 
■iH'sl.  hall  111 
*ahuc  of  the 
ly.  I  If  saw 
ciou.sllL'^^  ni 
\v  her  to  lii> 
"c  sol  lo  the 
soi\od  ii  for 
and  iKjhloi 

ropliod    she, 

foolish  hear; 

ts  occupanh 

tako  ill  \v>[ 

ilaco  to  \n . 
tion  I  ha\r 
c  I   roluiiicd 

I,    oniliraciii;: 

n(lin;j,"  ,1   mii- 

J_Li;o   ol    ,111   n'li 

)OlOI     in    lilr 

aiiiil\'  III  ilk- 
y.  'I'he  (lid 
)  somul  liu' 
lo  Tillv  JKui 
)f  luT  hiiihr 
u  troMi  llicir 

lilihiTt.  'aIi" 
lu  ioni  truiii 
)aiiiid  tluiii 
x'iiiu  w.inn. 
Sllildr.  \vi)iii' 
)l  I  ho  \\ii.nl,\ 

mod  \mc'io 
V  1  \vc|il  and 
rn,   with   iii\ 


dress  in  talters,  and  one  shoe  left  in  a  miry  place  !  I  recol- 
itct.  inoieovei",  that  my  protectors  were  in  almost  as  had  a 
pli[;ht  as  myself,  yet  they  chi\alrously  carried  the  little 
maiden  by  turns,  or  together  made  a  queen's  chair  for  me 
with  thoir  locked  hands,  until  we  all  broke  down  together 
and  sat  crying  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  reminding  one  another 
-ii  the  babes  in  the  wood,  and  recounting  stories  of  l)ears 
which  had  devoured  lost  naughty  children  in  the  forest.  I 
rL'meini)or  how  we  all  knelt  down  at  last  and  recited  our 
oravors  until  suddenly  we  heard  the  bugle-call  of  .Molus 
Miunding  close  by  us.  The  poor  old  man,  wild  with  ra[)ture 
,it  ha\ing  fouiul  us,  kissed  and  shook  us  so  violently  that  we 
mo>[  wished   ourselves  lost   in  the   forest  again." 

Tho  recollection  of  this  adventure  was  very  pleasing  to 
I'icno.  lie  recalled  every  incident  of  it  perfectly,  and  all 
hrec  of  them  seemed  for  a  while  transported  back  into  the 
tairv-land  of  th   -r  happy  childhood. 

Tho  bugle-call  of  old  /Kolus  again  soimded,  and  the 
•JiR'c  friontls  rose  and  proceeded  towards  the  liouse. 

Tho  little  brook  it  had  never  looked  so  bright  before  to 
Ainclio  sparkled  with  joy  like  her  own  eyes.  The  orioles 
and  hlaokbirds  warl)le(l  in  the  bushes,  and  the  insects  which 
live  u  \nntli  and  sunshine  chirmed  and  chirruped  among 
;'!ie  torns  and  branches  as  Amelie,  I'ierre,  and  Le  (lardeur 
valkcil  home  along  the  green  footpath  under  the  avenue  of 
dms  that  led  to  the  chateau. 

Fhe  Lady  de  Tilly  received  them  with  many  pleasant 
words.  Leading  thein  into  the  breakfast- room,  she  con- 
'^ratulatod  Le  (iardeur  upon  the  satisfaction  it  afforded  her 
■'I  SCO  hor  dear  children,  so  she  called  them,  once  more 
Hated  1  'iind  her  board  in  lu':ilth  and  happiness.  Amelie 
"doled  slightly,  and  lookea  al  lier  aunt  as  if  questioning 
vhothor  she  included  Philibert  among  her  children. 

The  l.ady  de  Tilly  guessed  hor  thought,  but  protending 
nul  to,  bade  Felix  proceed  with  the  breakfast,  and  turned 
the  coiivorsation  to  topics  more  general.  "The  Irocpiois," 
•>he  said,  "had  left  the  ( 'haudiorc  and  gone  further  east- 
^.ud;  tho  news  had  just  been  brought  in  by  mossongors  to 
'lit'  Seigniory,  and  it  was  probable,  nay,  certain  that  they 
'V'uild  not  be  heard  of  again.  Therefore  Lo  (lardour  and 
I'ierre    I'hilibert    were    under    no    necessitv   of    leaving   the 


312 


TIIK    CiOLDKN    DOG. 


Manor  to  search  for  the  savages,  but  could  arraiis^e  with 
Ame'He  for  as  much  enjoyment  as  they  could  crowd  inii, 
tliese  summer  days." 

"  It  is  all  arranged,  aunt !  "  replied  Amelie.  "  We  hiUc 
held  a  coiir  pkiiierc  this  morning,  and  made  a  code  of  law', 
for  our  Kingdom  of  C'ocagne  during  the  next  eight  dav>. 
It  needs  only  the  consent  of  our  suzeraine  lady  to  bo  ai 
once  acted  upon." 

"  And  your  suzeraine  lady  gives  her  consent  without 
further  questioning.  Amelie  !  although  I  confess  you  haw 
an  admirable  way  of  carrying  your  point,  Amelie,"  said  her 
aunt,  laughing;  "you  resolve  first  what  you  will  do,  ww^X  a.«,l< 
my  approbation  after." 

"Yes,  aunt,  that  is  our  way  in  the  kingdom  of  plcaMiic! 
And  we  begin  this  morning:  Le  (iardeur  and  Picrie 
will  ride  to  the  village  to  meet  our  cousin  Heloisc.  fiuiii 
Lotbiniere." 

"  But  you  will  accompany  us,  Ame'lie ! "  exclaimed  Li 
Gardeur.     "  1  will  not  go  else,  —  it  was  a  bargain  ! "" 

"Oh,  I  did  not  count  myself  for  anything  but  an  cm 
barrassment !  of  course  1  shall  go  with  you,  Le  ("lankur, 
but  our  cousin  Heloise  de  Lotbiniere  is  coming  to  see  ymi, 
not  me.  She  lost  her  heart,''  ''einarked  she,  tuniiii^  ti 
l^ierre,  "when  she  was  last  here,  at  the  feast  of  St.  I"hn, 
and  is  coming  to  seek  it  again." 

"  Ah  !  how  was  that,  Amelie  ?  "  asked  Philibert.  "  1  re 
member  the  lovely  face,  the  chestnut  curls,  and  bright  l)la(k 
eyes  of  Heloise  de  Lotbiniere.  And  has  hers  really  ij;onc 
the  way  of  all   hearts  ? " 

"Of  all  good  hearts,  Pierre,  —  but  you  shall  hear  it  vdu 
will  be  good  and  listen.  She  saw  the  portraits  of  vm  aiJ 
Le  Oardeur,  one  day,  hung  in  the  boudoir  oi  my  aiiiit. 
Heloise  professed  that  she  admired  both  until  she  cmuKI  \\<\ 
tell  which  she  liked  best,  and  left  me  to  decide." 

"Ah  !  and  which  of  us  did  }'ou  give  to  the  fair  Ik'loiM?" 
demanded  Philibert  with  a  sudden  interest. 

"Not  the  .'Vbelar-l  she  wanted,  you  may  be  sure,  riiri-," 
exclaimed  Le  Oardeur;  "she  gave  me,  and  kept  you!  It 
was  a  case  of  clear  misapi)ropriation." 

"No,  brother,  not  so!"  replied  Amelie,  hastily.  "Ib'li'ise 
had   tried   the   charm   of   the   three   caskeis   with    llif  llirt.o 


A    DAV    AT    THE    MANOR    HOUSE. 


313 


names  without  result,  and  at  last  watched  in  the  church  porch, 
„n  the  eve  of  St.  John,  to  see  the  shade  of  her  destined  lover 
luss  1)V.  and  lo.  Heloise  vowed  she  saw  me,  and  no  one  else, 
l)a>s  \nU)  the  church  !  " 

"Ah!  I  suppose  it  was  you.''  It  is  no  rare  thing  for 
voii  to  visit  the  shrine  of  our  Lady  on  the  eve  of  St.  John. 
j'iciiL'  lliilibert,  do  you  recollect?  Oh,  not  as  I  do.  dear 
iriciul."  continued  Le  Gardeur  with  a  sudden  change  of 
voice,  which  was  now  tilled  with  emotion:  "it  was  on  the 
d;iv  of  St.  John  you  saved  my  poor  worthless  life.  We  are 
not  ungrateful !  She  has  kept  the  eve  of  St.  John  in  the 
church  e\er  since,  in  commemoration  of  that  event." 

•jlrother,  we  have  much  to  thank  Hea\en  for!"  replied 
Allelic,  blushing  deeply  at  his  words,  "  and  I  trust  we  shall 
iicvL-r  be  ungrateful  for  its  favor  and  protection." 

Amelie  shied  from  a  compliment  iike  a  young  colt  at 
\b  own  shadow.  She  avoided  further  reference  to  the  sub- 
ject broiiched  by  Le  (iardeur  by  saying,  —  "It  was  I  whom 
lliloise  saw  pass  into  the  church.  I  never  explained  the 
iiiv.stcrv  to  her,  and  she  is  not  sure  vet  whether  it  was  niv 

raith  or  myself  who  gave  her  that  fright  on  St.  John's 
cvc.  but  I  claimed  her  heart  as  one  authorized  to  take 
it.  and  if  I  could  not  marry  her  mvself  I  claimed  the  right 
tiiLfive  her  to  whomsoever  I  pleased,  and  1  gave  her  to  you, 
Ix  (liirdeur,  but  you  would  not  accept  the  sweetest  girl  in 
New  I'rance  ! " 

"Thanks,  Amelie,"  replied  he,  laughing,  yet  wincing. 
"Heloise  is  indeed  all  you  say,  the  sweetest  girl  in  New 
ii.incel  Hut  she  was  too  angelic  for  Le  Gardeur  de 
ivipeiuigny.  I'shaw !  you  make  me  say  foolish  things, 
Amelia.      I5ut  in   pi  nance   for   my  slight,    1   will  lie  doubly 

eiuive  lo  my  fair  cousin  de  Lotbinierc;  to-day.  I  will  at 
I 'line  order  the  horses  and  we  will  ride  down  to  the  village 
I  til  iiiLTl  her." 

Arrayed    in    a   simple    riding  dress    of    dark    l)lue,    which 

lia'.ime  her  as  did  everything  else  which  she  wore, — Amelie's 

I'^cry  aiiire  seemed  instinct  with  the  living  graces  and  charms 

i''f  its  wearer,       she  mounted  her  horse,  accepting  the  aid  of 

I'liiliberl  lo  do  so,  although  when   alone  she  usually  sprang 

'<J  the  saddle  herself,  saluting  the  liadv  de  Tilly,  who  waved 

"'  liand  to  them  from  the  lawn.      The  three  friends  slowly 


314 


THE    (iOLDEN    DOG. 


cantered  down  the  broad  avenue  of  the  park  to\var(l>,  [h^. 
\il]aj^e  of  Tilly. 

Anielie  rtxle  well.  'I'he  exercise  and  the  pure  air  hnui^ht 
the  fresh  color  to  iier  face,  and  iier  eyes  sjiarklcd  with 
animation  as  she  conversed  gaily  with  her  hrollicr  and 
Philibert. 

They  speedily  reached  the  village,  where  they  met  lic- 
loise  de  Lr)tl)iniere,  who,  rushing  to  Anic'lie,  kissed  her  with 
effusion,  and  as  she  greeted  Le  (iardeur  looked  up  ,is  if  >in. 
would  not  have  refused  a  warn.er  salutation  than  ihc  kind 
shake  of  the  hand  with  which  he  received  her.  Siu;  wci- 
conied  Philibert  with  glad  surpri.se,  recognizing  him  it  hikc. 
and  giving  a  glance  at  Amelie  which  expressed  an  (Kxan  i;l 
unspoken  meaning  and  sympathy. 

Heloise  was  beautiful,  gay,  spirited,  full  of  good  b.umur 
and  sensibility.  Her  heart  had  long  been  dexolcd  td  \x 
(iardeur,  but  ne\'er   meeting  with   any  response  to  lici  >li\ 


niul  an 


advances,  which  were  like  the  wheeling  of  a  do\'e  ro 
round  its  wished-for  mate,  she  had  long  concluded  with  a 
sigh  that  for  her  the  soul  of  Le  (lardeur  was  insensiljlc  tu 
any  touch  of  a  warmer  regard  than  sprang  from  the  most 
sincere  friendshij). 

Amelie  saw  and  understood  all  this;  she  lovt.'d  IIcloiM', 
and  in  her  cpiiet  way  had  tried  to  awaken  a  kinder  Icclin;,^ 
for  her  in  the  heart  of  her  brother.  As  one  lights  lire  witli 
tire  in  the  great  conllagrations  of  the  prairies,  Amelie  hopud 
al.so  to  combat  the  inliuence  of  Angelique  des  Melnises  by 
'"aising  up  a  potent  rival  in  the  fair  Ileloise  de  I.otiiiiiii'iv. 
but  she  soon  found  how  futile  were  her  endeaxcrs.  TIk' 
heart  of  Le  (lardeur  was  wedded  tt)  the  idol  of  lii>  faiuv, 
and  no  woman  on  cwrth  could  win  him  awav  from  Ainieliiuii' 

Anu'lie  comforted  lleloise  by  the  gift  of  her  whole  con 
fidence  and  sympathy.  The  jioor  disappointed  girl  arcejUcd 
the  dc'cree  of  fate,  known  to  n(j  other  l)ut  .\melie,  while  in 
revenge  upon  herself  ~  a  thing  not  rare  in  proud,  sensitive 
natures  —  she  appeared  in  society  more  ga}\  more  ladiani 
and  full  of  mirth  than  e\cr  before.  Ileloise  hid  liu'  aV|j  in 
her  bosom,  but  so  long  as  its  bile  was  unseen  slu'  huiglnil 
cruelly  at  the  pain  of  it.  and  deceived,  as  she  tlioiiL;lit.  tl'^' 
eyes  of  the  world  as  to  her  suffering. 

The  arrival  of  Heloise  de  Lotbiniere  U'as  followed  hv  tli.ii 


A    DAY    AT    'JJIK    MANOR    HOL'SK, 


U  ^ 


,,t  a  crowd  of  other  visitors,  who  came  to  the  Manor  House 
;,,  pav  Uieir  respects  to  the  family  on  their  return  home,  and 
fspeciallv  to  ,<j;reet  Le  Clardeur  and  Colonel  IMiilibert,  who 
was  well  remembered,  and  whom  the  busy  tontines  of  <;ossip 
,i!reatly  set  down  as  a  suitor  for  the  hand  of  the  young  cha- 
ici.iine. 

Tlic  report  of  wiiat  was  said  by  so  many  whisperin<^ 
triciuls  was  quickly  carried  to  the  ear  of  Amelie  by  some  of 
her  li;;hl-hearted  companions.  She  blushed  at  the  accusa- 
tidii.  and  L;ently  denied  all  knowledj^e  of  it,  laui^hin;;-  as  a 
,\i,iii;ui  will  laugh  wlio  carries  a  hidden  jo\'  or  a  hidden  sor- 
ijw  in  her  heart,  neither  of  w hich  she  cares  to  reveal  to  the 
viirUrs  L'\e.     Amc'lie  listened  to  the  pleasant  tale  with  secret 

iiiipiaisance,  for,  despite  her  tremor  and  confusion,  it  was 
jii-asmt  to  hear  that  Pierre  I'hilibert  ioved  her,  and  was  con- 
>iik'!f(l  a  suitor  for  her  hand.  It  was  sweet  to  know  that  the 
voiKl  hcliex'ed  she  was  his  choice. 

She  llneaded  e\ery  one  of  these  precious  words,  like  a 
ihapici  of  pearls  upon  the  strings  of  her  heart, — contem- 
jiiatin;;'  them,  counting  them  over  and  o\er  in  secret,  with  a 
j.v  known  only  to  herself  and  to  dod,  whom  she  prayed  to 
^iiide  her  right  whatex'er  might  happen. 

Thai  something  would  happen  ere  long  she  felt  a  pre- 
iiKJiiilion,  which  at  limes  made  her  gra\e  in  the  midst  of  her 
liupc.^  and  anticipations.    ' 

The  (lays  passed  gaily  at  Tilly.  Amelie  carried  out  the 
clal)oiale  i)r()gramme  which  she  had  ai'ranged  for  the  amuse- 
nicnl  ot  i.e  (lardeur  as  well  as  for  the  pleasures  of  her  guests. 
■  Kverv  (lav  brouirht  a  change  and  a  fresh  eniovmont.  The 
nimnin^s  were  dexoled  by  the  gentlemen  to  inmling.  fishing, 
.111(1  other  sport;  b)-  the  ladies  to  reading,  music,  drawing, 
H'OiHework.  or  the  aiiangemcnts  of  dress  and  ornaments.  In 
llic  afttinoouj  all  met  together,  and  ihe  social  e\-ening  was 
mh'IU  cillier  at  the  Manor  Hons(.'  or  some  ncighboi  ing  man- 
^'"11.  The  hospitality  of  all  was  alike:  a  profusion  of  social 
i'cliii^  foiined,  at  that  day,  a  marked  chaiacteristic  of  the 
pH'pk'  of  \e\v  I''rance. 

flic  baily  de  T'illy  spent  an  hour  or  rvoeach  (hw  with  her 
''iWy  land  steward,  or  baiU'u  Master  ('ote.  iii  aluiiding  to 
'!(■  iiiiiltifarious  business  of  her  Seigniory.      T"he  feudal  law 

'  New  I'rance  imposed  gnat   dnties  and   mu(~h  laboi   upon 


3i6 


THE    GOLDEN    UOO. 


the  lords  of  the  manor,  by  giving  them  an  interest  in  cvcn 
man's  estate,  and  making  them  partieipators  in  c\crv  tian>- 
fer  of  hind  throughout  a  w  ide  cHslriet  of  country.  A  person 
who  acfpiired,  i)\'  purchase  or  otherwise,  the  hinds  of  a  (vz/v 
taiiy,  or  vassal,  was  held  to  perform  yj^/'  ct  homnui}^^  for  tlit- 
lands  so  acquired,  and  to  acquit  all  other  feudal  dues  owin- 
by  the  original  lu^lder  to  his  seigneur. 

It  was  during  one  of  these  fair  summer  days  at  Ti'lv  tluit 
Sieur  'I'ranchelot,  ha\ing  accpiired  the  farm  of  the  ll(H;me,  a 
strip  of  land  a  furlong  wide  and  a  league  in  depth,  wiih  a 
pleasant  frontage  on  the  broad  St.  Lawrence,  the  new  r; /. 
tdiiu-  came  as  in  duty  bound  to  render  /^v'  el  /ioduiuv^c  for  ilu- 
same  to  the  lady  of  the  Manor  of  Tilly,  according  to  the  law 
and  custom  of  tlie  Seigniory. 

At  the  hour  of  noon.  Lady  de  Tilly,  with  Le  Ciardaii. 
Amelie,  and  Pierre  Fhilibert,  in  full  dress,  stood  on  a  dais  in 
the  great  hall  ;  ALister  Cote'  sat  at  a  table  on  the  tloor  in 
front,  with  his  great  clasped  book  of  record  open  before  him. 
A  drawn  sword  lay  upon  the  table,  and  a  cup  of  wine  .stood 
by  the  side  of  it. 

When  all  was  arranged,  three  loud  knocks  were  heartl  or. 
the  great  door,  and  the  Sieur  Tranchelot,  dres.sed  in  his  holi- 
day costume,  but  bareheaded  and  without  sword  or  spurs. 
not  beiuii  iTcntiilioiniih'  he  was  not  entitled  to  wear  them. 
entered  the  door,  which  was  cerefnoniously  opened  for  him 
by  the  majordomo.  He  was  graxely  led  uj?  to  the  (hii^, 
where  stood  the  lady  of  the  ALmor,  by  the  steward  beariii,' 
his  wand  of  office. 

The  worthy  coisita'nr  knelt  down  before  the  lady,  and  re 
peating  her  name  three  times,  ]:)ronounced  the  formula  ol  A. 
li  /lO/iDiidi:^,'  ]-)rescril)ed  by  the  law,  as  owing  to  the  h)r(lsiit 
the  ALmor  of  I'illy. 

'•My  Lady  de  Tilly!  My  Lady  de  Tilly!  My  l,a(l\  a, 
'J'illy  !  I  render  you  fealty  and  homage  due  to  \()u  lui  at 
count  of  my  lands  of  the  Docage,  which  belong  to  iiic  ly 
virtue  of  the  deed  executed  by  the  Sieur  ALarcel  betorc  liu' 
worthy  notary  jean  Pothier  ,///  Robin,  on  the  day  of  I'alinx 
1748,  and  1  avow  my  willingness  to  accjuit  the  seigniorial 
and  feuilal  ir/is  d  rr/if,\\\  and  all  other  lawful  dues,  whensoever 
pa\-al)le  b\-  n)e  ;  beseeching  }-ou  to  be  my  good  lie-e  huly. 
antl  to  admit  me  to  the  said  fealtv  and  h()iiia;i:e." 


A     l)\V     AT     rili'.    .MANOR     IIDLSK 


J'/ 


The  huly  accepted  the  honiapje  of  Sieur  Tranclielot, 
graciously  remitted  the  lods  ct  TCfifes, —  the  tines  payable 
to  the  seigneur,  —  gave  him  the  cup  of  wine  to  drink 
when  he  rose  to  his  feet,  and  ordered  him  to  he  generously 
entertained  by  her  majordomo,  and  sent  back  to  the  IJocage 
rejoicing. 

So  the  days  passed  l)y  in  alternation  of  Inisiness  and 
p.istime.  but  all  made  a  pleasure  for  the  agreeable  inmates 
of  the  Manor  House.  i'hilibert  gave  himself  up  to  the 
dtlirium  of  enchantment  which  the  presence  of  Amelie 
threw  o\  or  him.  He  never  tired  of  watching  the  fresh  devel- 
iipmenis  of  her  gloriously-endowed  nature.  Her  beaut}',  rare 
,is  it  was,  grew  day  l)y  day  upon  his  wonder  and  admiration, 
.b  he  saw  how  fully  it  corresponded  to  the  innate  grace  and 
mihilil)'  of  her  mind. 

.She  was  so  fresh  of  thought,  so  free  from  all  affectation, 
.>o  ;2;eiitle  and  winning  in  all  her  ways,  and,  sooth  to  say.  so 
li:ippy  in  the  admiration  of  I'hilibert,  which  she  was  \eiy 
cnnscious  of  row.  It  darted  from  his  eyes  at  every  look, 
although  no  word  of  it  had  yet  passed  his  lips.  The  radiance 
of  her  si)irits  flashed  like  sunbeams  through  every  part  of  the 
old  Manor  House. 

Amelie  was  carried  away  in  a  flood  of  new  emotion  ;  she 
'lied  once  or  twice  to  be  discreetly  angry  with  herself  for 
.idmilting  so  unreservedly  the  pleasure  she  felt  in  I'ierre's 
achniration  ;  she  placed  her  soul  on  a  rack  of  self-cjuestioning 
torture,  and  every  inciuisition  she  made  of  her  heart  returned 
the  self-same  answer  :  she  loved  Pierre  Philibert  I 

It  was  in  vain  she  accused  herself  of  possible  impropriety : 
that  it  was  bold,  unmaiclenly,  censurable,  nay,  perhaps  sinful, 
to  njive  her  heart  before  it  had  been  asked  for  ;  but  if  she  had 
'odie  for  it,  she  could  not  conceal  the  truth,  that  she  loved 
I'ierre  I'hilibert  !  "  I  ought  to  be  angry  with  myself,"  said 
^he,    "  I  try  to  be  so,  but  I  cannot !     Why  ?" 

"Why?"  Amelie  solved  the  query  as  every  true  woman 
lioes,  who  asks  herself  why  she  loves  one  man  rather  than 
another.  '•  IJecause  he  has  chosen  me  out  in  preference  to 
ill  others,  to  be  the  treasure-keeper  ot  his  affections !  I  am 
proud."  continued  Amelie,  "  that  he  gives  his  love  to  me,  to 
me!  unworthy  as  I  am  of  such  preference.  I  am  no  better 
than  others."      .Amelie  was  a  true  woman  :   proud  as  an  em- 


I  < 


rill,   (.oi 


A 


i(  t( 


press  before  other   men,  she   was   huiuble   and   lowh    ,i>  ',; 
Madonna  in  the  presence  of  him  whom  she  felt  wa^Jtv  rl^i,- 
of  love,  lord  and  master  of  her  affections, 

Anielie  could  not  oxercome  a  feelinpj  of  tremni  in  ih,. 
presence  of  Pierre  since  she  made  this  disco\tr\,  H^.^ 
clieek  warmed  with  an  incipient  llush  when  his  ardmi  evc- 
<j,lanced  at  her  too  elocpiently.  She  knew  what  waN  in  lij> 
heart,  and  once  or  twice,  when  casually  alon.e  with  I'hiJibcii, 
she  saw  his  lips  (|ui\ering  under  a  hard  restraint  to  keep  in 
the  words,  the  dear  words,  she  thought,  whicli  wmuKI  odv 
day  hurst  forth  in  a  flood  of  passionate  elocpienct'.  (jvcr- 
whelmino;  all  denial,  and  make  her  his  own  forexer. 

Time  and  tide,  which  come  to  all  once  in  our  li\  e>.  a>  tin. 
poet  says,  and  which  must  be  taken  at  their  t1o(jd  to  lead  lu 
fortune,  came  at  length  to  Amelie  de  Repentigny. 

It  came  suddenly  and  in  an  unlooked-for  hour,  the  L,Mca: 
question  of  questions  to  her  as  to  every  xvoman. 

The  hour  of  birth  and  the  hour  of  death  are  in  (linl^ 
hand,  but  the  hour  when  a  woman,  yielding  to  the  suon;' 
enfolding  arm  of  a  man  who  loves  her,  falters  forth  an 
avowal  of  her  lo\'e,  and  plights  her  troth,  and  vows  to  lie  on 
with  him  till  death,  ~  Ciod  leaves  that  question  to  he  (K-tidifl 
by  her  own  heart.  His  blessing  rests  upon  her  choice,  ii 
pure  love  guides  and  reason  enlightens  affection.  His  cinv 
infallil)ly  follows  every  faithless  pledge  where  no  heart  i\ 
every  union  that  is  not  the  marriage  of  love  and  tru.h, 
These  alone  can  be  married,  and  where  these  are  ahscn; 
there  is  no  marriage  at  all  in  the  face  of  Heaven,  and  but  the 
simulation  of  one  on  earth,  an  unequal  yoking  which,  ii 
man  will  not  sunder,  Ciod  will  at  last,  where  there  i^ 
neither  marriage  nor  giving  in  marriage,  but  all  arc  as  lii> 
angels. 

The  day  appointed  for  the  long-planned  excursion  to  tlir 
beautiful  T,ake  of  Tilly  came  round.  A  numerous  anii 
cheerful  water-party  left  the  Manor  House  in  the  l)right.  oin. 
morning  to  spend  the  day  gipsying  in  the  shady  woods  iind 
quiet  recesses  of  the  little  lake.  They  were  all  tluR 
Amt'Jie's  invitation  to  her  young  friends  far  and  near  IkuI 
been  eagerly  accepted.  Half  a  do/en  boats  and  canoe>. 
filled  with  light-hearted  companions  and  with  ample  prci- 
visions  for  the  day,  shot    up  the  narrow  river,  and  after  a 


A     ]).\\     A  r     llll-:     MA\(»K     IIOL  .>K. 


3 1 9 


1th  i'lulilxr;. 


rapid  and  merry  voya<;c,  disembarked  tiieir  passeni^ers  and 
were  drawn  up  on  tlie  shores  and  ishmds  of  the  lake. 

That  bright  morning  was  followed  by  a  sunny  day  of  blue 
skio.  warm  yet  breezy.  The  old  oaks  wove  a  car[)et  of 
>h,ulo\vs.  changinu;  the  pattern  of  its  tissue  every  hour  uiion 
the  leaf  strewn  lloor  of  the  forest.  The  fresh  i)ines  slied 
their  resinous  perfume  oil  every  side  in  the  still  shade,  but 
out  in  the  sunshine  tiie  birds  sang  merrily  all  da\-. 

The  groups  of  merrymakers  sj^ent  a  glorious  day  of 
p'tUMirc  by  tile  side  of  tiie  clear,  smooth  lake,  fishing  and 
junketing  on  shore,  or  paddling  their  birch  canoes  over  its 
waiers  among  the  little  islands  which  dotted  its  surface. 

Day  was  fast  fading  away  into  a  soft  twilight ;  the  shad- 
ows which  had  been  drawing  out  longer  and  longer  as  the 
sun  declined,  lay  now  in  all  their  length,  like  bands  stn^tched 
over  the  greensward.  The  breeze  went  down  with  the  sun. 
and  the  smooth  surface  of  the  lake  lay  like  a  sheet  of  molten 
i;old  reflecting  the  parting  glories  of  the  day  that  still  lit  up 
the  western  sky. 

A  few  stars  began  to  twinkle  here  and  there  —  thev  were 
not  destined  to  shine  brilliantly  to-night,  for  the\'  would  ere 
\m^  be  eclipsed  by  the  splendor  of  the  full  moon,  which 
was  just  at  hand,  rising  v^  a  hemisphere  of  light,  which 
>lfiod  like  a  royal  pavilion  on  the  eastern  horizon.  From  it 
in  a  few  minutes  would  emerge  the  queen  of  heaven,  and 
mildly  replace  the  vanishing  glory  of  the  day. 

The  company,  after  a  repast  under  the  trees,  rose  full  of 
life  and  merriment  and  rearranged  themselves  into  little 
jjroups  and  couples  as  chance  or  inclination  led  them. 
1  hey  troojied  down  to  the  beach  to  embark  in  their  canoes 
Kir  a  last  joyous  cruise  round  the  lake  and  its  fairy  islands, 
Hy  niooiilight,  before  returning  home. 

Amid  a  shower  of  lively  conversation  p.'id  laughter,  the 
ImHcs  seated  themselves  in  the  light  canoes,  which  danced 
like  corks  upon  the  water.  'l"he  gentlemen  took  the  pad- 
dles, and,  e.\[)ert  as  Indians  in  the  use  of  them,  swept  (ml 
over  the  surface  of  the  lake,  which  was  now  all  aglow  with 
tiie  l)rii;lit  crimson  of  sunset. 

Ill  ihi' bow  of  one  of  the  canoes  sat  the  Arion  of  Tilh, 
j-in  (le  I, a  Alarche;  a  llute  or  two  accomi'Kinied  his  \iolin, 
mda^uitar  tinkled   sweetlv  under  ibo  llniiers  of  Heloise  de 


,20 


■nil';  (loi.DKx   DOC. 


Lotbinicic.       Tliey    j)layo(l    an   old    air,   while    lean  kd  ;i,. 
chorus  in  splendid  voice  : 

'"  Nous  irons  siir  Teaii, 
Nous  y  ])r()ni-])n)ineuer, 
Nous  irons  jcnicr  dans  I'isle.'  " 

The  voices  of  all  united  in  the  song  as  the  canoes  swept 
away  around  a  little  promontory,  crowned  with  three  pim 
trees,  which  stood  ujj  in  the  blaze  of  the  settinjj;  sun  like  ihc 
three  children  in  the  hery  furnace,  or  the  sacred  Inish  th,i! 
burned  and  was  not  consumed. 

Faint  and  fainter,  the  echoes  repeated  the  recedinti  bar 
mony,  until  at  last  they  died  away,  A  solenm  .silciki 
succeeded,  A  lan^juor  like  that  of  the  lotus-eaters  ciepi 
over  the  face  of  nature  and  softened  the  heart  to  uiiwonicd 
tenderness.  It  was  the  hour  of  gentle  thouglils,  of  low 
spoken  confidences,  and  love  between  young  and  syiiiiia- 
thizing  souls,  who  alone  with  themselves  and  God  coiifc>> 
their  mutual  love  and  invoke  his  blessing  upon  it. 


CHAITKR  XXX. 


FKLICES    TER    ET    AMPLIUS, 


uiriU>.  of  liw 


VMKLIK,  by  accident  or  by  contrivance  of  her  fair 
companions,  -  girls  are  so  wily  and  sympathetic  with 
each  other,  —  had  been  left  seated  by  the  side  of  Philibert, 
on  the  twisted  roots  of  a  gigantic  oak  forming  a  rude  but 
simple  chair  fit  to  enthrone  the  king  of  the  forest  and  his 
drvad  cjueen.  No  sound  came  to  break  the  quiet  of  the 
evening  hour  save  the  monotonous  plaint  of  a  whippoor- 
will  ill  a  distant  brake,  and  the  (  caseless  chirm  of  insects 
imono  the  leafy  boughs  and  down  in  the  ferns  that  clustered 
oil  the  knolls  round  about. 

Philibert  let  fall  upon  his  knee  the  book  which  he  had 
|}een  reading.  His  voice  faltered,  he  could  not  continue 
without  emotion  the  touching  tale  of  Paolo  and  Francesca 
da  Rimini.  Ame'lie's  eyes  were  suffused  with  tears  of 
pity,  for  her  heart  had  beat  time  to  the  music  of  Dante's 
immortal  verse  as  it  dropped  in  measured  cadence  from 
the  lips  of    Philibert. 

She  had  read  the  pathetic  story  before,  i)ut  never  com- 
prehended until  now  the  weakness  which  is  the  strength  of 
love.  Oh,  blessed  paradox  of  a  woman's  heart  !  And  how 
truly  the  Conimcdia^  which  is  justly  called  Divine,  unlocks  the 
secret  chambers  of  the  human  soul. 

"Read  no  more,  Pierre,"  said  she,  "that  book  is  too 
terrible  in  its  beauty  and  in  its  sadness  !  I  think  it  was 
written  l)y  a  disembodied  spirit  who  had  seen  all  worlds, 
knew  all  hearts,  and  shared  in  all  sufferings.  It  sounds  to 
me  like  the  sad  voice  of  a  prophet  of  woe." 

"Anielie,"  replied  he,  "believe  you  there  are  women 
faithful  and  true  as  Francesca  da  Rimini }  She  would  not 
forsake  Paolo  even  in  the  gloomy  regions  of  despair. 
Hclieve  you  that  there  are  such  women  ?  " 

321 


322 


THE  (loLDKX   nor;. 


Amelie  looked  at  him  with  a  quick,  confident  '^h\Kv. 
A  deep  Hush  covered  her  cheek,  and  her  breath  went  and 
came  rapidly;  she  knew  what  to  answer,  but  she  tliou^l,; 
it  might  seem  overbold  to  answer  such  a  nuestion,  .\ 
second  thought  decided  her,  however.  Pierre  i'liilibcit 
would  ask  her  no  question  to  which  she  might  not  answer, 
she  said  to  herself. 

Amelie  replied  to  him  slowly,  but  undrjubtingK  :  •■  i 
think  there  are  such  women,  Pierre,"  icplied  she,  ••  wDnieti 
who  would  never,  even  in  the  regions  of  despair,  Imsaki 
the  man  whom  they  truly  love,  no,  not  for  all  the  icrn.is 
recorded  in  that   awful   book  of  Dante!" 

"It  is  a  blessed  truth,  Amelie,"  replied  he,  eagerly ;  an(. 
he    thought,  but    did  not  "say  it,  "Such    a  woman  nou  ,i,i 
the  man  who  gets  your  love  gets  thr.L  which  neither  eaiii 
nor  heaven  nor  hell  can  take  away." 

He    continued    aloud,  "•  The    love    of    such  a    woman  i- 
truly  given  away,   Amelie;   no    one  can  merit   it!     It  is 
woman's  grace,  not  man's  deserving." 

"  I  know  not,"  said  she  ;  "  it  is  not  hard  to  give  awav 
God's  gifts :  love  should  be  given  freely  as  (lod  gi\HS  it  i 
us.  It  has  no  value  excejjt  as  the  bounty  of  the  heari.  aiii: 
looks  for  no  reward  but  in  it;,  own  acceptance." 

"Amelie!"  exclaim.ed  he,  passionately,  turning  fiiil 
towards  her;  but  her  eyes  remained  fixed  upon  the  ground. 
"  The  gift  of  such  a  woman's  love  has  been  llir  (Iroain, 
the  ambition  of  my  life  !  I  may  never  fmd  it,  oi  liavini: 
found  it  may  never  he  worthy  of  it  ;  and  yet  1  nui>t  IiikI 
it  or  die  !  I  musi  find  it  where  alone  1  seek  it  tluivir 
nowhere  !  Can  you  help  me  for  friendship's  sake  fur 
love's  sake,  Amelie  de  Kejientigny,  to  fmd  that  one  livasuiv 
that  is  precious  as  life,  wliirh  is  life  itself  to  the  luMii  '>i 
Pierre  Philibert?" 

He  took  hold  of  her  passive  hands.  They  ticnililcd  in 
his,  but  she  offered  not  to  withdraw  them.  ImKi'd.  s!k 
hardlv  n(;ticed  the  act  in  the  tide  of  emotion  \\lii(h  w.b 
surging  in  her  bosom.  Her  heart  moved  with  a  wild  M.'anv 
ing  to  tidl  him  that  he  had  found  the  treasiue  he  Mni^iit, 
—  thai  a  love  as  strong  and  as  devoted  as  that  ol  Iimh- 
cesca  da  Rimini    was  l.er  own  free  gift  to  him. 

She    tried    to  answer    him,   bui    couUl    not.        lb.'    Ii'^'i'' 


FELICES    TER    ET    AMF'LiU.i. 


"1    T    *» 

3~d 


ent  pjlanci;. 
1  went  and 
he  thou^lii 
lestion.  .\ 
■e  J'liilibtn 
not  answfr. 

i)tin<j;ly  ;   ••  i 

le,   "  V,  oilier 

)air,   torsakr 

the  tcridi- 


eagerly ;  am. 
an  you  aru. 
leilher  eaiir. 


a    woman  !• 
it  !     It  i> 

:)  give  a\va\ 
|cl  gives  il  h 
le  heart,  aiv,; 

urning    fu'il 

the  ground. 

the  (h-oaiii, 

.  or  havini; 

I    iiiu.st  find 

t       tlieriMii' 

sake      f"i' 

one  tivasmv 

tlie   heart  "\ 

tiH'iuliK'd  ill 
Intlecil.  ^!i'- 
whieh  v>.e 
a  wiM  \^';i'ii- 
c   lie  soivj;!'.!. 

liat   >'l'  I'l'iii- 


•V    W 


and 


still  remained  fast  locked  in  his.      He  held  to  it  as  a  drown- 
ini:;  man  holds  to  the  hand  that  is  stretclied  to  save  him. 

I'hiliijert  knew  at  that  moment  that  the  hour  of  his 
,;ic  was  come.  He  would  never  let  go  that  hand  again 
till  he  called  it  his  own,  or  received  from  it  a  sign  to  be 
:;i)ne  forever  from   the  presence  of   Ame'lie  de    Repeiitigny. 

The  soft  twilight  grew  deeper  and  deeper  every  mo- 
ment, changing  the  rosy  hues  oi"  the  west  into  a  pale  ashen 
;:rav,  o\cr  which  hung  the  lamp  of  love,  -  the  evening  star 
vliich  shines  so  brightly  and  sets  so  soon,  and  ever  the 
Midiier  as  it  hastens  to  become  again  the  morning  star  of  a 
'uri^hier  day. 

The  shadow  of  the  broad,  spreading  tree  fell  darker 
round  the  rustic  seat  where  sat  these  two  -  as  myriads  have 
>,u  hefoie  and  since,  working  out  the  problems  of  their  lives, 
and  heginniiig  to  comprehend  each  other,  as  they  await 
v.iih  a  Lhrill  of  anticipation  the  moment  of  mutual  confi- 
J.cnce  and  fond  confession. 

Pierre  i'hilibert  sat  some  minutes  without  speaking. 
ile  conld  have  sat  so  forever,  gazing  with  rapture  upon 
he;  half-averted  countenance,  wliich  beamed  with  such  a 
divine  beauty,  all  aglow  with  the  iiappy  corisciousness  of 
ids  ardent  admiration,  that  it  seemed  the  face  of  a  seraph; 
and  in  his  heart,  if  not  on  his  knees,  he  lient  in  worship, 
almost  itlolatrcHis,  at  her  feet. 

And  yet  he  treml)led,  this  strong  man  who  had  faced 
lieaih  in  every  form  but  this  !  He  trembled  by  the  side  of 
tliis  Identic  girl,  — but  it  was  for  joy,  not  for  fear.  Per- 
fat  l()\e  casts  out  fear,  and  he  had  no  fear  now  for  Amelie's 
iiive.  although  she  had  not  yet  dared  to  look  at  him.  But 
iiiT  little  hand  lay  unreprox'ingly  in  his,  nestling  like  a 
'iuiid  hi  1(1  which  loved  to  be  there,  and  sought  not  to  es- 
lapo,  lie  pressed  it  gently  to  his  b.eart ;  he  felt  by  its 
ina;Mietic  touch,  by  that  dumb  alphabet  of  love,  more  elo- 
||ucnt  than  spoken  words,  that  he  had  won  the  heart  of 
Amelie  de   Repentigny. 

"  Pierre,"  said  she,  she  wanted  to  sav  it  was  time  to 
ii.']()in  their  companions,  but  the  words  would  not  come. 
Hor  face  was  still  half-averted,  and  suffused  wdth  an  un- 
■^i-'on  hhish,  as  she  felt  his  .strong  arm  round  her;  and  his 
l)reath.  how  sweet  it  seemed,  fanning  her  cheek.      She   had 


324 


TIIK    fiOI.DKN    DOG. 


no  power,  no  will  to  resist  him,  as  he  drew  her  close,  still 
closer  to  his  heart. 

She  trembled,  hut  was  happy.  No  eye  saw  hut  (]o(i\ 
through  the  blessed  twilii;ht ;  and  "  (lod  will  not  ie|)i()Vc 
Pierre  IMiilibert  for  lovin<;  me,"  thought  she,  '•  and  why  .should 
I  ^  "  She  tried,  or  simulated,  an  attempt  at  soft  reproof,  ;i>  a 
w^oman  will  who  fears  she  may  be  thought  too  fond  and  [>„, 
easily  won,  at  the  very  moment  she  is  ready  to  fall  down  uul 
kiss  the  feet  of  the  man  before  her. 

"Pierre,"  said  she,  "  it  is  time  we  rejoin  our  coiu])anion,v 
they  will  remark  our  absentee.     We  will  g(j." 

lUit  she  still  sat  there,  anci  made  no  effort  to  go.  A  ;j,(i> 
samer  thread  could  have  held  her  there  fore\er,  and  ln.w 
could  she  put  asid^  the  strong  arm  that  was  migluict  than 
her  own  will  ? 

Pierre  spoke  now;  the  feelings  so  long  pent  up  Inusi  tnuli 
in  a  torrent  that  swept  away  every  bond  of  restraint  but  thai 
of  love's  own  laws. 

He  placed  Ids  hand  tenderly  on  licr  cheek,  and  turned  hci 
glowing  face  full  towards  him.  Stil  she  dared  not  look  up, 
She  knew  well  what  lie  was  going  to  say.  She  n-.iglu  control 
her  words,  but  not  her  tell-tale  eyes.  She  felt  a  wild  jny 
Hashing  and  leajnng  in  her  bosom,  which  no  art  could 
conceal,  should  she  look  up  at  this  moment  in  the  face  of 
Pierre  Philibert. 

"  Ame'lie,"  said  he,  after  a  pause,  ''  turn  tliose  dear  cycx 
and  see  and  believe  in  the  truth  of  mine!  No  words  can 
express  how  much  I  do  love  you  !  " 

She  gave  a  start  of  joy,  —  not  of  surpri.se,  for  she  knew  he 
loved  her.  liut  the  avowal  of  Pierre  l'hilil)ert"s  low  lifted  ,\; 
once  the  veil  from  her  own  feelings.  She  raised  licr  (hirk, 
impa.^sioned  eyes  to  his,  and  their  souls  met  ami  endirau'd 
in  one  look  both  of  recognition  and  bliss.  She  spakr  nut, 
but  unconsciou.sly  nestleil  closer  to  his  breast,  faltfiinij;  on; 
some  inarticulate  words  (»f  tenderness. 

"  Amelie,"  continued  he,  straining  lier  still  harder  m  lu^ 
heart,  "your  love  is  all  I  ask  (>{  lleaven  and  of  you.  (iiu 
me  that.  I  must  have  it,  or  ]i\e  liencefv)rlh  a  man  foiloini:' 
the  wide  world,  Oh,  say,  darling,  can  yju,  do  you  rare  tm 
me.?" 

"  Ve.s,  indeed  I  do!"  replied  she,  laying  her  arm  over  lib 


FELICES    TEK    ET    AMPLIUS. 


325 


omnaninn.v 


neck,  as  if  drawing  him  towards  her  with  a  timid  moveiuent, 
while  he  stooped  and  kissed  her  sweet  moutii  and  eyes  in  an 
ecstasy  of  passionate  joy.  She  abandoned  herself  for  a 
moment  to  her  excess  of  bliss.  "  Kiss  me,  darling  !  "  said 
he;  and  slie  kissed  him  more  than  once,  to  exi)ress  iier  own 
:;real  love  and  assure  him  that  it  was  all  his  own. 

They  sat  in  silence  for  some  minutes ;  her  cheek  lay  upon 
his.  as  she  breathed  his  name  with  many  fond,  faltering 
expressions  of  tenderness. 

He  felt  her  tears  upon  his  face.  "  \'ou  ^\  ^p,  Amelie," 
said  he,  starting  up  and  looking  at  her  cheeks  and  eyes 
>ullused  with  moisture. 

"I  (U)."  said  she,  "but  it  is  for  joy  !  Oh,  Piern;  Philil)ert, 
lam  so  ha|)py !  Let  me  weep  now;  I  will  laugh  soon. 
l()i;,nve  me  if  I  have  confessed  too  readily  how  much  1  love 
you." 

"Forgive  you!  'tis  I  need  forgiveness;  impetuous  that  I 
,1111  t(i  have  forced  this  confession  from  you  to-niglit.  Those 
Messed  words,  '  Yes,  indeed  1  do,'  —  God's  finger  has  w  litlt'U 
ihem  on  my  heart  forever.  Never  will  I  forsake  the  dear 
lips  which  sj)ake  them,  nor  fail  in  all  loving  duly  and  affcc- 
lion  to  you,  my  Amc'lie,  to  the  end  of  my  life.  ' 

•'Of  both  our  lives,  Pierre,"  replied  she;  ''I  can  imagine 
no  life,  only  death,  separated  from  you.  In  thought  yon  lia\'e 
always  been  with  me  from  the  beginning;  m\-  life  and  vours 
a'c  henceforth  one," 

He  L^ave  a  start  of  joy,  "And  you  lo\ed  me  before, 
Amelie  !  "  exclaimed  he. 

"Kverand  always;  but  irrevocably  since  that  day  of  terror 
and  ji»y  when  you  saved  the  life  of  Le  Gardeur,  and  I  vowed 
111  pray  for  you  to  the  end  of  my  life." 

"And  during  these  long  years  in  the  Convent,  Amelie, — 
Alien  we  seemed  utterly  foi"golten  to  each  othei?" 

"\'iiu  were  not  forgotten  by  me,  Pierre!  I  prayed  for  you 
dien,  earnest  prayers  for  jour  safety  and  happiness,  ne\c'r 
ii'ipiii:;  for  more;  least  of  all  anticipating  such  a  moment  of 
liiiss  as  tlie  pre.sent.  Oh,  my  Pierre,  do  not  think  me  bold! 
^'•u  i:;ive  me  the  right  to  love  you  without  shame  by  the 
iviiwal  of  your  love  to  me." 

"Amelie!"  exclaimed  Iv^,  krssing  her  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy 

what  c;m  I  ever  do,  to 


I'ld  adiiuration,  "  what  have  I  done 


326 


THE    GULDEN     UOG. 


merit  or  recompense  such  condescension  as  your  deiu  words 
express  ?  " 

'*  Love  me,  Pierre  !  Always  love  me !  Thai  is  nu 
reward.  That  is  all  I  ask,  all  my  utmost  imaL;inatiou 
could  desire." 

"And  this  little  hand,  Amelie,  will  l)e  forever  mine?" 

"  Forever,  I'ierre,  and  the  heart  aioui^  with  it." 

He  raised  her  hand  re\erently  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it, 
"  Let  it  not  be  lon;^,"  said  he.  "  Life  is  too  short  U)  »,  uiiail 
one  hour  (jf  happiness  from  the  years  full  of  tioublc  \\lii(_ji 
are  most  men's  lot." 

"  ]jut  not  our  lot,  Pierre ;  not  ours.  With  you  1  fur- 
bode  no  more  trouble  in  this  life,  and  eternal  joy  in  ihc 
next." 

She  looked  at  him,  and  her  eyes  seemed  to  dilate  wiili  jov. 
Her  hand  crept  liniidiy  up  to  his  thick  locks;  she  fmuliv 
brushed  them  aside  from  his  broad  forehead,  which  slic 
pressed  down  to   her   lips  and  kissed. 

"Tell  my  aunt  and  Le  CJardeur  when  we  return  hoiiic." 
continued  she.  "■  They  love  you,  and  will  be  glad  iia\, 
overjoyed,  to  know  that  I  am  to  be  your  -     your  -    '" 

"  My  wife  !-•  Amelie,  thrice  blessed  words!  Oh,  sav  iiiv 
wife  ! " 

"Yes,  your  wife,  IMerre  !  Your  true  and  lo\in^  wili' 
forever." 

"  l'\)rever  !  Yes.  Love  like  ours  is  iiuperishablc  as  \\w 
es.sence  of  the  soul  itsi-lf,  aiul  partakes  of  the  innii(»rtalii\  ut 
God,  being  of  him  and  from  him.  'IMie  Lady  dc  Tilly  sliali 
find  me  a  worthy  son,  and  Le  (lardeur  a  true  and  faithfu! 
brother." 

"  And  you,  Pierre  !  Oh,  say  it ;  that  blessed  word  has  iioi 
sounded  yet  in  my  ear  what  shall  1  call  you?"  And  ■^Iw 
looked  in  his  eyes,  drawing  his  soul  from  its  inmost  dcptlb 
by  the  magnetism  of  her  look. 

"  \'our  husband,  your  true  and  loving  husbanrl,  as  \uu 
are  my  wife,  .\melie." 

"(Jod  \)c  praised  !  "  murnuu'ed  she  in  his  ear.  "  \V>.  iii\ 
liHslniihl !  The  blessed  Virgin  has  heard  my  prayers."  Ami 
she  ijressed  him  in  a  fond  end)race,  while  tears  of  jov  llnwal 
from  her  eyes.      "  1  am  indeed  happy!" 

The  words  hardly  left  her  lips  when  a  sudden  cra.sh  ci 


MiLlCES    TER    ET    AMPLIUS. 


h^7 


juimlcr  rolled  over  their  heads  and  went  p-'aling  down  the 
ike  aiul  among  the  islands,  while  a  black  cloud  suddenly 
cdipsotl  the  moon,  shedding  darkness  over  the  landscape, 
which  had  just  begun  to  brighten  in  her  silvery  rays. 

AiiicHe  was  startled,  frightened,  clinging  hard  to  the  breast 
L,t  I'icne,  as  her  natural  protector.  She  trembled  and  shook 
,i>  the  angry  reverberations  rolled  away  in  the  distant 
loie^ts.  "Oh,  l*ierre  !"  exclaimed  she,  "  what  is  that?  It 
is  as  it  a  dreadful  voice  came  between  us,  forbidding  our 
aniiiii !  But  nothing  shall  ever  do  that  now,  shall  it.'  Oh, 
;iiv  l(i\e  . 

"Nothing,  Arnelie.  IJe  comforted,"  replied  he.  "It  is 
imi  a  thunder-storm  comhig  up.  It  will  send  Le  Gardeur 
and  all  our  gay  companions  quickly  back  to  us,  and  we  shall 
return  home  an  hour  sooner,  that  is  all.  Heaven  cannot 
iitiwii  on  our  union,  darling." 

"1  should  love  you  all  the  same,  Pierre,"  whispered  she. 
Ainclie  was  not  hard  to  persuade  ;   she  was  neither  weak  nor 

)erstiiious   bevond   her  age   and    sex.      Hut   she  had  not 


.-\\\)K. 

iiuic 


h  time  to  indulge  in  alarms. 


In  a  few  minutes  the  sound  of  voices  was  heard  ;  the  dip 
and  splash  of  hasty  paddles  followed,  and  the  Meet  of  canoes 
laiiiL-  rushing  into  shore  like  a  Hock  of  water-fowl  seeking 
shelter  in  bav  or  inlet  from  a  storm. 

TliLML'  was  a  hasty  prej^aration  on  all  sides  for  departure. 
Tile  camp-lires  were  trampled  out  lest  they  should  kindle  a 
lunlhiL^ration  in  the  forest.  The  baskets  were  tossed  into 
'inc  ot  the  large  canoes.  IMiilibert  and  Amelie  embarked 
111  tli.u  (){  Le  (jardeur,  not  without  many  arch  smiles  and 
pivkiuled  regrets  on  the  part  of  some  of  the  young  ladies 
t"i  lia\  iiig  left  them  on  their  last  round  of  the  lake. 

1 1)1'  clouds  kept  gathering  in  the  s(mth,  and  there  was  no 
iiinr  1(11  parley.  Tlie  canoes  were  headed  down  the  stream, 
'111'  paddles  were  plied  vigorously  :  it  was  a  race  to  keep 
.ilicad  of  the  coming  storm,  and  they  did  not  (piite  win  it. 

rile  black  clouds  came  rolling  o\er  tlu;  horizon  in  still 
lil.U'ker  masses,  lower  and  lower,  lashing  the  very  earth  with 
dicir  angry  skirts,  which  were  rent  and  split  with  vivid 
ilaslu'>  ol  lightning.  The  rising  wind  ahnost  overpowered 
with  its  roaring  the  thunder  that  pealed  momentarily  nearer 
•ind  nearer.     The  rain  came  down  in  broad,  heavy  splashes, 


328 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


followed  by  a  fierce,  pitiless  hail,  as  if  Heaven's  an2;er  wa-, 
pursuing  them. 

Amelie  clung  to  IMiilibert.  She  thought  of  Francesca  da 
Rimini  clinging  to  Paolo  amidst  the  tempest  of  wind  and 
the  moving  darkness,  and  uttered  tremblingly  the  woixU, 
*'()h,  Pierre!  what  an  omen.  vShall  it  be  said  of  us  a^  of 
them,  '  A)nor  londtissc  noi  ad  ima  mortc  '.<!'"  (''  Love  has  con- 
ducted us  into  one  death.") 

"  God  grant  we  may  one  day  say  so,"  replied  he,  prcssini^ 
her  to  his  bosom,  "  when  we  have  earned  it  by  a  loii^  lite 
of  mutual  love  and  devotion.      IJut  now  cheer  up,  daiiin^ 
we  are  home." 

The  canoes  pushed  madly  to  the  bank.  The  startled 
holiday  party  sprang  out ;  servants  were  there  to  help  them. 
All  ran  across  the  lawn  under  the  wildly-tossing  trees,  and 
in  a  few  moments,  before  the  storm  could  overtake  them 
with  its  greatest  fury,  they  reached  the  Manor  Mouse,  and 
w^ere  safe  under  the  protection  of  its  strong  and  hospitahlc 
roof. 


s  anger  \\;b 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


"  N<J    SPEECH    OF    SII.K    WILL    SERVE    YOUR    TURN." 

\  XOKLIQUE  DKS  MKLOISKS  was  duly  informed, 
~\  through  the  sharp  t'sp/onai:^c  of  Lizette,  as  to  what 
had  become  of  Le  Gardeur  after  that  memorable  night  of 
conriict  between  love  and  ambition,  when  she  rejected  the 
otier  of  his  hand  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  illusions  of  her 
iiiia;j;in;ition. 

She  was  sorry,  yet  flattered,  at  Lizette's  account  of  his 

conduct  at  the  Taverne  de  Menut ;  for,  although  pleased  to 

think  that  Le  Gardeur  loved  her  to  the  point  of  self-destruc- 

[lion.  she  honestly  pitied  him,  and  felt,  or  thought  she  felt, 

that  she  could  sacrifice  anything  except  herself  for  his  sake. 

Angelique  pondered  in  her  own  strange,   fitful  way  over 

Le  Oardeur.     She  had  no  thought    of    losing    him  wholly. 

She  would  continue  to  hold  him  in  her  silken  string,  and 

ktrp  hiiu  under  the    spell    of  her   fascinations.       She  still 

Admired  him, —  nay,    loved    him,    she   thought.       She  could 

not  help  doing  so;  and  if  she  could  not  help  it,  where  was 

{the  blame.?     She  would  not,  to  be  sure,  sacrifice  for  him  the 

lliant   hopes  which    danced  before    her   imagination    like 

inre-Hies  in  a  summer  night  —  for  no  man  in  the  world  would 

Uhe  do  that!     The  Royal  Intendant  was  the  mark  she  aimed 

Ut.    She  was  ready  to  go  through  fire  and  water  to  reach 

that  oroal  of  her  ambition.      But  if  she   gave  the   Intendant 

her  hand  it  was  enough;  it  was  all  she  could  give  him,  but 

[nutthe  smallest  corner  of  her  heart,  which  she  acknowledged 

[to  herself  belonged  only  to  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny. 

While  bent  on  accomplishing  this  sc-heme  by  every  means 

jin  her  i^ower,  and  which  involved  necessarily  the  ruin  of  Le 

[f^'ardeiir,  she  took  a  sort  of  perverse  pride  in  enumerating 

he  hundred  points  of  perscmal  and  moral  superiority  pos- 

e^sal  \)\   him    over   the    intendant   and   all  others   of   her 

|idniirers.      If  she  sacrificed  her  love  to  her  ambition,  hating 

3-0 


330 


rilJ':    GOLDEN    DOG. 


herself  while  she  did  so,  it  \v;is  a  sort  of  satisfaction  to  thiuK 
that  Le  (lardeur's  sacrilice  was  not  less  complete  than  h^r 
own  ;  and  she  rather  felt  pleased  with  tiie  reflection  thai  hj.v, 
heart  would  be  broken,  and  no  other  woman  would  ever  till 
that  place  in  his  affections  which  she  had  once  occupied. 

The  days  that  elapsed  after  their  final  interview  were  (ja\> 
of  vexation  to  An<;elique.  She  was  angry  with  herself. 
almost ;  angry  with  Le  Gardeur  that  he  had  taken  her  at  her 
word,  and  still  more  angry  that  she  did  not  reap  the  imme- 
diate reward  of  her  treachery  against  her  own  hcait.  Shi.- 
was  like  a  spoiled  and  wilful  child  which  will  neither  have  a 
thing  nor  let  it  go.  She  would  discard  her  lover  and  still 
letain  his  love  !  and  felt  irritated  and  e\en  jealous  when  she 
heard  of  his  departure  to  IMlly  with  his  sister,  who  h;id  thus, 
apparently,  more  inth.KMce  to  take  him  away  from  the  citv 
than  Ange'lique  had  to  k'^v.p  him  there. 

But  her  mind  was  especially  worked  upon  almost  to  mad- 
ness by  the  ardent  professions  of  love,  with  the  careful 
avoidance  (^f  any  proposal  of  marriage,  on  the  jiart  of  the 
Intendant.  She  had  received  his  daily  visits  with  a  deter- 
mination to  please  and  fascinate  him.  She  hael  dressed 
herself  with  elaborate  care,  and  no  woman  in  New  I'laiiee 
equalled  Angelique  in  the  perfection  of  her  attire.  vShe 
studied  liis  tastes  in  her  conversation  and  demeanor  which 
were  free  beyond  e\'en  her  wont,  because  she  saw  that  a 
manner  bold  and  unconstrained  took  best  with  him.  An 
ge'lic{ue's  free  style  was  the  most  perfect  piece  of  aetins^  in 
the  world.  Sh.e  laughed  loudly  at  his  wit,  and  heard  wiihoir. 
blushes  his  ({oiih/c  c/ifcjidirs  and  coarse  jests,  not  less  coarse 
because  sjioken  in  the  polished  dialect  of  Paris.  She  stood 
it  all,  but  with  no  more  result  than  is  left  by  a  brilliant  dis- 
play of  fireworks  after  it  is  over.  .Uie  could  nMd  in  ;'•■ 
eager  looks  and  maniie.r  jf  tliC  Ititendan*  that  she  had  fixed 
his  admiration  and  stirred  his  ])assions,  but  she  knew  In  a 
no  less  sure  intuition  ;hat  she  had  not,  with  all  hei  Idaiidish 
ments,   suggested  to  liis  mind  one  serious  thoui'lu  ul  inai- 


riage. 


In  vain    -he    reverted   to    the    sul)ject  of    matrimony,  m 
apparent    jest    but    secret  earnest.     The   Intendant,   quick- 
witted as  hersc;lf,  would  accept  tlv.'  challenge,  talk  witli  htrj 
and  caracole  on    the  topic  which  she    had  caparisoned  so 


•  XO   SPEECH    OF    SILK    WILL    SERVE    YOUR    TURN.       33  I 

;;.iily  for  liini,  and  amid  compliments  and  pleasantries,  ride 
vA.iv  from  the  point,  she  knew  not  whither  !  Then  Ange- 
iique  would  be  an^^ry  after  his  departure,  and  swear, —  she 
could  swear  slujckingly  for  a  lady  when  she  was  angry  !  —  and 
vow  she  would  marry  Le  Ciardeur  after  all  ;  hut  her  pride 
«,is  stung,  not  her  love.  No  man  had  e\er  defeated  her 
when  she  chose  to  subdue  him,  neither  should  this  proud 
Intcnclant !  So  Angelic[ue  collected  iier  scattered  forces 
a^MJn,  and  laid  closer  siege  to  Higot  than  ever. 

The  great  ball  at  the  Palais  had  been  the  ol)ject  of 
,ib>()ii)ing  interest  to  tiie  fashionable  society  of  the  Capital 
fur  many  weeks.  It  came  on  at  last,  turning  the  heads  of 
half  the  city  with  its  splendor. 

An^tjlic|ue  shone  the  acknowledged  cpieen  of  the  Intend- 
„ni's  ball.  Her  natural  grace  and  beauty,  set  off  by  the 
ixquisitc  taste  and  richness  of  her  attire,  threw  into  eclipse 
tlic  fairest  of  her  rivals.  If  there  was  one  present  who,  in 
admiration  of  her  own  charms,  claimed  for  herself  the  first 
place,  she  freely  conceded  to  Angel ique  the  second.  J>ut 
.\nf;cli(|ue  feared  no  rival  there.  Her  only  fear  was  at 
llcauiuanoir.  She  was  profoundly  conscious  of  her  own 
superiority  to  all  present,  while  she  relished  the  envy  and 
jealousy  which  it  created.  She  cared  but  little  what  the 
women  thought  of  her,  and  boldly  challenging  the  homage 
iillho  men,  obtained  it  as  her  rightful  due. 

Still,  under  the  gay  smiles  and  lively  badinage  which  she 
-li'iuxTcd  on  all  around  as  she  moved  through  the  brilliant 
throng,  Angelique  felt  a  bitter  spirit  of  discontent  rankling 
ill  her  hosom.  She  was  angry,  and  she  knew  why,  and  still 
more  angry  because  upon  herself  lay  the  blame  !  Not  that 
^ik:  blamed  herself  for  having  rejected  LeCilardeur:  she  had 
iimie  that  deliberately  and  for  a  jirice ;  but  the  price  was 
"ot  yrt  paid,  and  she  had,  sometimes,  (jualms  of  doul)t 
w'ielJKT  it  woukl  ever  be  paid  ! 

She  wlio  had  had  her  own  wav  with  all  men,  now  encoun- 
!i-ie(l  a  man  who  sjioke  and  looked  like  onv  who  had  had 
ni>  ewn  way  with  all  women,  and  who  meant  to  have  his 
|wn  \\A\  with  hei  ! 

She  L!;azed  often  upcui  the  face  of  jiigot.  and  the  more  she 
"okcd  the  niore  inscrutable  it  aijpeared  to  her.  She  tried 
"■'•unci  the  depths  of  his  thoughts,  but  her  incjuiry  was  like 


332 


THE    GOLDEN    UOG. 


the  dropping  of  a  stone  into  the  bottomless  pit  of  that  (ktii 
cavern  of  the  chirk  and  bloody  ground  talked  of  l)v  adw:; 
turous  vo\  ageurs  from  the  Far  West. 

'I'hat  lligot  .ulmired  her  beyond  all  other  women  at  ihr 
ball,  was  visible  enough  from  the  marked  attcntidii  wliiJ, 
he  lavished  upon  her  and  the  courtly  tlatteries  that  llowtd 
like  honey  from  his  lips.  She  also  read  her  prcLiiiiiinutj 
in  his  favor  from  the  jealous  eyes  of  a  host  ot  ri\als  whi 
watched  her  every  movement.  Hut  Angelique  feh  that  tiic 
admiration  of  the  Intendant  was  not  of  that  kind  winch  had 
dri\en  so  many  men  mad  for  her  sake.  She  knew  Wyj^Di 
would  never  go  mad  for  her,  much  as  he  was  fascinated! 
and  why  ?  why  ? 

Angt'li(|ue,  while  listening  to  his  honeyed  Hatterics  as  he 
led  her  gaily  through  the  ballroom,  asked  herself  a;j;ain 
and  again,  why  did  he  carefully  a\oid  the  one  t^pic  thai 
filled  her  thoughts,  or  spoke  of  it  only  in  his  mocking  man- 
ner, which  tortured  her  to  madness  with  doubt  and  per- 
plexity ? 

As  she  leaned  on  the  arm  of  the  courtly  Intendant, 
laughing  like  one  possessed  with  the  very  spirit  of  gaiety 
at  his  sallies  and  jests,  her  mind  was  torn  with  bitter  com- 
parisons as  she  remembered  Le  Gardeur,  his  handsome  face 
and  his  transparent  admiration,  so  full  of  love  and  ready  fur 
any  sacrifice  for  her  sake,  —  and  she  had  cast  it  all  away  for 
this  inscrutable  voluptuary,  a  man  who  had  no  res|K'Ct  fur 
women,  but  who  admired  her  person,  condescended  to  he 
pleased  with  it,  and  affected  to  be  caught  by  tlie  Inres  >\x 
held  out  to  him,  but  which  she  felt  would  be  of  n(t  imre 
avail  to  hold  him  fast  than  the  threads  which  a  spider 
throws  from  bush  to  bush  on  a  summer  morn  will  hold  ta-t 
a  bird  which  flies  athwart  them  ! 

'I'he  gayest  of  the  gay  to  all  outward  appearanc  e.  An^c 
liciue  missed  sorely  the  presence  of  Le  (iardeur.  and  >lie 
resented  his  absence  from  the  ball  as  a  slight  and  a  uroiii; 
to   her  sovereignty,  which   never  released  a  lo\er  trom  his 


allegiance. 


The  fair  demoiselles  at  the  ball,  less  resolutely  ainhitioib 
than  Angelitiue,  found  by  degrees,  in  the  devotion  of  nilitf 
cavaliers,  ample  compensation  for  only  so  much  ol  the 
Intendant's  favor  as  he  liberally  bestowed  on  all  the  se 


\; 


NO    SI'KICCU    Ol"    SILK     WIl.I.    SKRVK    VOl'K     IlKN.        333 


but  thai  did  not  content  .\n<;elique  :  she  looked  with  sluirp- 
e^t  eves  of  inquisition  upon  the  l)rii;ht  ghmces  which  now 
,111(1  then  shot  across  the  room  where  she  sat  by  the  side  of 
IIIl^oI,  apparently  steeped  in  hajjpiness,  but  with  a  serpent 
bitini,'  at  her  heart,  for  she  felt  that  l5i<;ot  was  really  unini- 
prcssibk'  as  a  stone  under  her  most  sid)tle  manipulalicMi. 

Her  th()u;j;hts  ran  in  a  round  of  ceaseless  repetition  of  the 
(|ue>li')n  :  "  Why  can  I  not  subdue  l'"ran(;ois  liiL;ot  as  I 
h;ive  .sul)dued  every  other  man  who  exposed  ids  weak  side 
to  my  power  ?"  and  Angelicpie  jiressed  her  foot  hard  upon 
[he  tloor  as  the  answer  returned  ever  the  same :  "  'I'he 
heart  of  the  Intendant  is  away  at  JJeaumanoir  I  Tiiat  i)ale, 
])cn>i\c  lady"  ( Anjj;c'li(jue  used  a  more  coarse  and  em- 
phatic word)  "stands  between  him  and  me  like  a  spectre 
,b  she  is,  and  obstructs  the  path  I  have  sacrificed  so  much 
to  enter !  " 

'•  [  cannot  endure  the  heat  of  the  ballroom,  Bigot!"  said 
Ani;eli(iue  ;  "  I  will  dance  no  more  to-night !  I  would  rather 
-it  and  calch  fireflies  on  the  terrace  than  chase  forever  with- 
out overtaking  it  the  bird  that  has  escaped  from  my  bosom  !  " 

The  Intendant,  ever  attentive  to  her  wishes,  offered  his  arm 
to  lead  her  into  the  pleached  walks  of  the  illuminated  gar- 
den. Ange'lique  rose,  gathered  up  her  rich  train,  and  with 
ill  air  of  royal  coquetry  took  his  arm  and  accompanied  the 
Intendant  on  a  promenade  down  the  grand  alley  of  roses. 

"What  favorite  bird  has  escaped  from  your  bosom, 
Angelicjue  ? "  asked  the  Intendant,  who  had,  however,  a 
shrewd  guess  of  the  meaning  of  her  metaphor. 

"The  pleasure  1  -had  in  anticipation  of  this  ball  !  The 
'ndhas  tlown.  1  know  not  where  or  how.  I  have  no  pleasure 
hire  at  all!"  exclaimed  she,  petulantly,  although  she  knew 
;iic  hall  had  been  really  got  up  maiidy  for  her  own  pleasure. 

"And  yet  Momus  himself  might  have  been  your  father, 
jnd  Kuphiosyne  your  mother,  Ange'liciue,"  replied  l)igot,  "to 
jud^e  hy  your  gaiety  to-night.  If  you  have  no  pleasure,  il  is 
because  you  have  given  it  all  away  to  others!  Hut  I  have 
'■•u-ht  the  bird  you  lost,  let  me  restore  it  to  your  bosom 
pi'^v!"  Me  laid  his  hand  lightly  and  caressingly  ujion 
iii-'i'  arm.  Her  Ixjsom  was  beating  wildly  ;  she  removed  his 
li'ind.  and  held  it  firmly  grasped  in   her  own. 

■'*  hevalier ! '"   said    she,    "the   pleasure   of    a    king  is   in 


334 


T!IK    fiOF.DKN    I)()(l. 


the  loyalty  of  his  subjects,  the  pleasure  of  a  wonian  in  ih^ 
fidelity  of  her  lover  !  "  She  was  j;oing  to  say  more,  hui  stir. 
peel.  lUit  she  ^ave  him  a  -glance  which  insinuated  nuir, 
than  all  she  left   unsaid. 

J!i;^ot  smiled  to  himself.  "  An^cMique  is  jealous  I '"  thou"!/ 
he,  but  he  (jnly  remarked,  '*  That  i.>  an  aphorism  which  I 
beliexe  with  all  my  heart  !  If  the  pleasure  of  a  woman  1h 
in  the  tidelity  of  her  lo\er,  I  know  no  one  who  >lii>u|(l  1, 
more  happy  than  AnL;eli(|ue  des  Meloises  I  Xo  |.ui\  n, 
New  l*'rance  has  a  ri^^ht  to  claim  i^reater  de\Oii(»ii  irom  , 
lover,  and  no  one  receives  it  !  " 

"  lUit  I  have  no  faith  in  the  fidelity  of  my  lo\er  !  ami  I  an 
not  happy.  Chevalier!  far  from  it  1"  replied  she,  with  on 
of  those  impulsive  speeches  that  seemed  frankness  ii^LJi 
but  in  this  woman  were  artful  to  a  dei^ree. 

"Why  so?"  replied  he;  "pleasure  will  never  leave  voii. 
Angelique,  unless  you  wilfully  chase  it  away  from  you: 
side  !  All  women  envy  your  beauty,  all  men  stru^j^dc  i. 
obtain  your  smiles.  l''or  myself,  I  would  <;atiier  all  tin 
joys  and  treasures  of  the  world,  and  lay  them  at  your  fed, 
would  you  let  me  !  " 

"1  do  not  hinder  you.  Chevalier!"  she  replied,  with  ,i 
laugh  of  incredulity,  "  but  you  do  not  do  it  I  It  is  only  yoiir 
politeness  to  say  that.  1  have  told  you  that  the  pleaMirc  of  a 
woman  is  in  the  fidelity  of  her  lover  ;  tell  me  now,  C'luvaliti. 
what  is  the  hi<;hest  pleasure  of  a  man  .-'  " 

"The  beauty  and  condescension  of  his  mistress, --;ri 
least,  I  know  none  greater."  bigot  looked  at  her  as  if  hi> 
speech  ought  to  receive  acknowledgement  on  the  spot. 

"  And  it  is  your  jjoliteness  to  say  that,  also,  C'lievaiiei '" 
replied  she  very  coolly. 

"  I  wish  I  could  say  of  your  condescension.  Aiii^eliqnr, 
what  I  have  said  of  your  beauty:  I-'rancois  lligot  would 
then  feel  the  highest  pleasure  of  a  man."  'I'he  inteiulaii; 
only  half  knew  the  woman  he  was  seeking  to  deceive.  She 
got  angry. 

Angelique  looked  np  with  a  scornful  flash.  "  My  cmi 
desceiision,  Chevalier?  to  what  have  I  not  conde^cen(ll•d 
on  the  faith  of  your  solenm  promise  that  the  lady  ot 
Beaumanoir  should  not  remain  under  your  roof?  She  i:^ 
still  there.  Chevalier,  in  spite  of  your   promise  !  " 


NO   Si'Kl.CH    OI--    SILK    WILL    SKRVE    V()Ur<    TURN.        335 


lli^^it  was  on  the  point  of  denying  the  fact,  but  there 
was  sharpness  in  Angt'lique's  tone,  and  clearness  of  all 
doubt   in    her   eyes.      He  saw    he    would   gain    notiiing  by 

denial. 

•■  SiiL'  knows  the  w  hole  secret,  I  do  believe  !  "  muttered 
he.  '■  Argus  with  his  hundred  eyes  was  a  blind  man  com- 
pared to  a  woman's  two  eyes  sharpened  by  jealousy." 

••  TIk-  hidy  of  IJeaiunanoir  accuses  me  of  no  sin  that 
1  repent  of  !  "  replied  he.  "  True  !  I  promised  10  send  her 
iwav.  and  so  I  will  ;  but  she  is  a  woman,  a  lady,  who  has 
claims  upon  me  for  gentle  usage.  If  it  were  your  case, 
Anjielique  - —  " 

Ani,a'lique  quitted  his  arm  and  stood  confronting  him,  flam- 
inL'witli  indignati(Mi.  She  did  not  let  him  finish  his  sentence  : 
•  If  it  were  my  case,  JJigot !  as  if  that  could  ever  be  my  case, 
and  vou  alive  to  speak  of  it  !  " 

l!iu;i)t  stepped  backwards.  He  was  not  sure  but  a 
poniard  glittered  in  the  clenched  hand  of  Angelique,  It 
was  but  the  flash  of  her  diamond  rings  as  she  lifted  it 
>uddenlv.     She  almost  struck  him. 

"Do  not  blame  me  for  infidelities  committed  before  I 
knew  you,  Angelique  !  "  said  he,  seizing  her  hand,  which  he 
held  forcibly  in  his,  in-  spite  of  her  efforts  to  wrench  it  away. 

•  li  is  my  nature  to  worship  beauty  at  every  shrine.  1 
have  ever  done  so  until  I  found  the  concentration  of  all  my 
divinities  in  you.  I  could  not,  if  I  would,  be  unfaithful  to 
you.  .\n:j;clique  des  Meloises  ! "  JJigot  was  a  firm  believer  in 
the  classical  faith  that  Jo\e  laughs  at  lovers'  perjuries. 

•  \'ou  mock  me.  Bigot !  "  replied  she.  "  You  are  the  only 
man  who  has  ever  dared  to  do  so  twice." 

"When    did  I  mock    you    twice,  Angelique  ? "  asked    he, 
'vith  an  air  of   injured  innocence. 
"Now!   and  when    you    pledged  yourself    to  remove  the 
ady  of    lieaumanoir    from    your    house  !        1    admire    your 
[courage,  Higot,  in  playing  false  with  me  and  still   hoping  to 
h^in!     liut  never  speak  to  me  more  of  love  while   that  pale 
I'ecire  haunts  the  secret  chambers  of  the  Chateau  !  " 
"She    shall    be    removed,    Angelique,   since    you     insist 
Upon  it."  replied  he,   secretly  irritated ;    "■  but  where    is  the 
harm?    I  pledge  my  faith  she  shall  not  stand  in  the  way  of 
I  my  love  for  vou." 


336 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


*'  Better  she  were  dead  than  do  so  !  "  whispered  Anfft 
Hque  to  herself.  '•  It  is  my  due,  Bigot  !  "  replied  she  aloud, 
"  you  know  what  I  have  given  up  for  your  sake  !  " 

"Yes!  I  know  you  have  banished  Le  Ganlcur  de 
Repentigny  when  it  had  been  better  to  keep  him  scciirclv  in 
the  ranks  of  the  Grand  Company.  Why  did  you  refuse  to 
marry  him,  Angelique  .''  " 

The  question  fairly  choked  her  with  anger.  "  Why  did 
i  refuse  to  marry  him  ?  FraiKjois  Bigot  !  J)o  you  a^k  iiic 
seriously  that  question  .?  Did  you  not  tell  me  of  your  own 
love,  and  all  but  offer  me  your  hand,  giving  me  to  under- 
stand -  miserable  sinner  that  you  are,  or  as  you  think  me  lo 
be  —  that  you  pledged  your  own  faith  to  me,  as  lir^t  in 
your  choice,  and  1  liav^  done  that  which  I  had  better  liavt 
been  dead  and  buried  with  the  heaviest  pyramid  of  K^jvpt 
on  fop  of  me,  buried  without  hope  of  resurrection,  tlian 
have  done  ? " 

Bigot,  accustomed  as  he  v/as  to  woman's  upl)raidin;;.s, 
scarcely  kni'w  what  to  reply  to  this  passionate  outburst. 
He  had  spoken  to  her  words  of  love,  plenty  of  them,  l)ut 
the  idea  ol  marriage  had  not  flashed  across  his  mind  for  a 
moment,  —  not  a  word  uf  that  had  escaped  his  lips.  He  had 
as  little  guessed  the  height  of  Angelique's  ambition  a^  slic 
the  depths  of  his  craft  and  wickedness,  and  yet  there 
was  a  wonderful  similarity  between  the  characters  of  both. - 
the  same  bold,  defiant  spirit,  the  same  inordinate  anibilinn, 
the  same  void  of  principle  in  selecting  means  to  ends,  (inl\  j 
the  one  fascinated  with  the  lures  of  love,  the  other  by  the 
charms  of  wit,  the  temptations  of  money,  or  effecti;d  his  pur 
poses  by  the  rough  application  of  force. 

"  You  call  me  rightly  a  miserable  sinner,"  said  he,  ha!; 
smiling,  as  one  not  very  miserable  although  a  sinner.  "1; 
love  of  fair  women  be  a  sin,  I  am  one  of  the  greatest  di 
sinners;  and  in  your  fair  presence,  Angeli(|ue,  I  am  siniiiiii:j 
at  tliis  moment  enough  to  sink  a  shipload  of  saints  and 
angels  !  " 

"  You  have  sunk  me  in  my  own  and  the  world's  estinia] 
tion,  if  you  mean  what  you  say.  Bigot  !  "  replied  she.  uuom 
sciously   tearing   in   strips  the    fan    she    held   in   her  hand. 
"You  love  all  wcjmen  too  well  ever  to  be  capabK'  ot  UwKl 
your  heart  upon  one  1  "     A  tear,  of  vexation  perhaps,  stood 


"NO    SPIlFCn    ()!•'    SILK     WILL    SICKVK    \i\VK    TURN'. 


3j7 


n  her  angry  eye  as  she  said  this,  and  her  clieek  twitched 
with  tierce  emotion. 

"  (  (line,  Angelic[ue  !  "  said  he,  soothingly,  "some  of  our 
^rucsis  have  entered  this  alley.  Let  us  walk  down  to  the 
leiT.icc.  The  moon  is  shining  hriglit  over  the  broad  river, 
,.nd  I  will  swear  to  you  by  St.  Picaut,  my  patron,  whom  1 
never  tlecei\e,  that  my  lo\'e  for  all  womankind  has  not 
hindered  me  from  ii.xing  my  supreme  affection  upon  you." 

Ange!i([ue  allowed  hiiu  to  jiress  her  hand,  which  he  did 
wiih  fer\-()r.      She    almost  believed    his  words.     She   could 
scarcely  imagine  another  woman  seriously  preferred  to  iiei' 
self,  when  she  chose  to  flatter  a  man  with  a  belief  of  her 
own  preference  for  him. 

The}  walked  down  a  long  alley  brilliantly  illuminated 
wiih  l;inips  of  iiohemian  glass,  which  shone  like  the  dia- 
iiujinls.  rubies,  and  emeralds  whicli  grew  upon  the  trees  in 
ihc  ijarden  of  Aladdin. 

At  every  angle  of  the  geometrically-cut  paths  of  hard- 
licUeii  sea-shells,  white  as  snow,  stood  the  statue  of  a  faun, 
.invniph,  or  dryad,  in  Parian  marble,  holding  a  torch,  which 
i  iiiiiiinated  a  great  vase  running  o\er  with  fresh,  blooming 
iliiwers,  presenting  a  vista  of  royal  magniiicence  which  bore 
tL'S'iinion}'  [n  the  wealth  and  splendid  tastes  of  the  Intendant. 

The  garden  walks  were  not  deserted  :  their  beauty  drew 
out  many  a  couple  who  sauntered  merrily,  or  lovingly,  down 
ihc  pleached  avenues,  which  looked  like  the  corridors  of  a 
2;ori;oously-decorated  ])alace. 

l)i2;ot  and  Angelicpie  nujved  among  the  guests,  receiving, 
;b  they  jiassed,  obsequious  salutations,  which  to  Angeliciue 
-•L'L'ined  a  foretaste  of  royalty.  She  had  seen  the  gardens  of 
ihc  palace  man)-  times  before,  liut  ne\'er  illumiiuited  as  now. 
rile  sight  of  them  S(/  grandly  decorated  tilled  her  with  ad- 
miration of  their  owner,  and  she  resol\-ed  tliat,  cost  what  it 
woiiKl,  the  homage  paid  to  her  to-night,  as  the  partner  of  the 
Inlendaiu,  should  become  hers  ])\  idght  on  his  iiearlhstone 
a-.the  lirst  lady  in  \e\v  JMancc. 

Ain;elic|ue  threw  back  her  \cil  that  all  might  see  her, 
tliat  the  women  miglit  envy  and  the  men  admire  lur,  as  she 
leaned  confidingly  on  the  arm  of  Pigol,  looking  up  in  his 
I'lce  with  that  wonderful  smile  of  hers  which  had  brought 
nuuiy  men    to   ruin  at   her   feel,  anil   talking   with    such 


so 


338 


Tin-:    GOLDKX     DOG. 


enchantment   as  no  woman   could   talk  but  AngclifjUL'  du 
Meloises. 

Well  understanding  that  her  only  road  to  success;  was  to 
completely  fascinate  the  Intendant,  she  l^ent  hersi'jf  u,  the 
task  with  such  i]tower  of  witchery  and  such  simulation  ot 
real  passion,  that  Higot,  wary  and  experienced  ghuliaioi  as 
he  was  in  the  arena  of  love,  was  more  than  once  brouglu  lo 
the  brink  of  a  proposal  for  her  hand. 

She  watched  every  movement  of  his  features,  at  these 
critical  moments  when  he  seemed  just  falling  into  the  Miaiis 
so  artfully  set  for  him.  When  she  caught  his  eyes  ^lowin;; 
with  passionate  adiuiration,  she  shyly  affected  to  witluliav. 
hers  from  his  gaze,  turning  on  him  at  times  Hashes  of  her 
dark  eyes  which  electrified  every  nerve  of  his  sensuous 
nature.  She  felt  the  pressure  of  his  hand,  the  changed  aiul 
softened  inllections  of  his  voice,  she  knew  the  words  of  her 
fate  were  trembling  on  his  lips,  and  yet  they  did  nol  conic: 
The  shadow  of  that  pale  hand  at  Heaumanoir,  weak  and 
delicate  as  it  was,  seemed  to  lay  itself  upon  his  lips  when 
about  to  speak  to  her,  and  snatch  away  the  words  whicii 
Angelique,  trembling  with  anticipation,  was  ready  to  haiter 
away  body  and  soul  to  hear  spoken. 

In  a  shady  passage  through  a  thick  greenery  where  the 
lights  were  dimmer  and  no  one  was  near,  she  allowed  his 
arm  for  a  moment  to  encircle  her  yielding  form,  and  she 
knew  by  his  (juick  breath  that  the  words  were  moulded  in 
his  thoughts,  and  were  on  the  point  to  rush  forth  in  a  lor 
rent  of  speech.  Still  they  came  not,  and  IJigot  again,  to  her 
unutterable  disgust,  shied  off  like  a  full-blooded  horse  which 
starts  suddenly  away  from  some  object  by  the  wa\side  and 
throws  his  rider  headlong  on  the  ground.  So  a^ain  werr 
dashed  tiie  ardent  expectations  of  AngcMiciue. 

She  listened  to  the  gallant  and  gay  S|)eeches  of  l!i,[;oi, 
which  seemed  to  iUilter  like  birds  round  her,  but  ni'vor  lit 
on  the  ground  where  she  had  spread  her  net  like  .1  cnifty 
fowler  as  she  was,  until  she  went  almost  mad  will)  su|) 
pressed  anger  and  passionate  excitement,  liut  she  kept  nn 
replying  with  batlinage  light  as  his  own,  and  with  laiiuhtiT 
so  soft  and  silvery  that  it  seemed  a  gentle  dew  from  lleavcii, i 
instead  of  the  drift  and  Hying  foam  of  the  storm  ihalwa- 
raging  in  her  bosom. 


xo  sri:i':cu  oi--  silk   will  skkvI':  voi'k  turn.     .S30 


She  read  and  re-read  glimpses  of  his  hidden  tlioughts 
thill  went  and  came  Hke  faces  in  a  dream,  and  slie  saw  in 
bcr  imagination  the  dark,  pleading  eyes  and  pale  face  of  the 
huh  ot  Heaumanoir.  It  came  now  like  a  revelation,  con- 
tiriniiii;  a  thousand  suspicions  that  l>igot  loved  that  pale, 
sul  face  too  well  ever  to  marry  Angeli(|ue  des  Meloises 
while  its  possessor  lived  at  Heaumanoir,  —  or  while  she  lived 
ai  all ! 

And  it  came  to  that!  In  this  walk  with  Higot  round  the 
'jjlorious  garden,  with  God's  flowers  shedding  fragrance 
around  ihem  ;  with  (iod's  stars  shining  overhead  abcne  all 
the  glilter  ana  illusion  of  the  thousand  lamps,  Angclitiue 
rcpcate'l  to  herself  the  terrific  words,  "  Higot  lo\'es  that  pale, 
\\u  face  too  well  ever  to  marry  me  while  its  possessor  lives 
,il  licaunianoir       or  while  she  li\es  at  all  ! " 

The  thought  haunted  her!  It  would  not  leave  her  !  She 
Iciued  heaxily  upon  his  arm  as  she  swept  like  a  cpieen  of 
(  vpru>  through  the  llower-bordered  walks,  brushing  the 
!u>cs  and  lilies  with  her  proud  train,  and  treading,  with  as 
dainty  a  foot  as  ever  bewitched  human  eye,  the  white  paths 
dial  led  i)ack  to  the  grand  terrace  of  the  Palace. 

Her  fevered  imagination  played  tricks  in  keeping  with 
111  r  fear  :  more  than  once  she  fancied  she  saw  the  shadowy 
tniin  (;f  ;i  beautiful  woman  walking  on  the  other  side  of 
\\vu)[  nrxi  his  heart  !  It  was. the  form  of  Caroline  liearing  a 
iliild  in  one  arm,  antl  claiming,  by  that  sujireme  appeal  to 
a  iiian'>  heart,  the   Inst  place  in   Ids  alTeclions. 

The  figure  .'jometimes  vanished,  sometimes  rea|5peared 
111  ihe  same  place,  and  once  and  the  last  time  assumed  the 
fiijure  and  look  of  ( )ur  Lady  of  St.  l''oye,  triumphant  after  a 
tiiDUsand  sufferings,  and  still  ever  bearing  the  face  and  look 
I't  ilie  huly  of   lieaumanoir. 

Knieiging  at  last  from  the  dim  avenue  into  the  full  light, 
\\\\c\v  ;i  fountain  sent  up  sliowers  of  sparkling  crystals,  the 
ii;iiik'  vanished,  and  .\ngcli(|ue  sat  down  on  a  (luaintly- 
caived  seat  under  a  mountain-ash,  very  tired,  and  profcnnully 
vexed  a'r  all  things  and  with  e\er\bo(ly. 

A  sei\ant  in  gorgeous  livery  brought  a  message  from  the 
l>.iliiO'tin  to  the  Intendant. 

lie  V, as  summoned  fo:  a  dance,  Init  he  wonld  not  leave 
AngeliqPA:,  he  saiil.      Hut  Augc'lique  begged  lor  a  .siujit  re^t  : 


340 


THE    GOLDKN     DOG. 


it  was  SO  pleasant  in  the  garden.  She  would  rein.iiii  !;, 
the  fountain.  She  liked  its  sparkling  and  splashin;;,  i 
refreshed  her  ;  ths  Intendant  could  come  for  her  in  half  an 
hour;  she  wanted  to  be  alone;  she  felt  in  a  hartl,  unuim 
able  mood,  she  said,  and  he  only  niatle  her  worse  Ir, 
stopping  with  her  wiien  others  wanted  him,  and  he  wanted 
others  ! 

The  Intendant  protested,  in  terms  of  the  wannest  ga! 
lantry,  that  he  would  not  leave  her ;  but  seeing  AnL^cliqiu 
really  desired  at  the  present  moment  to  be  alone,  and 
■reflecting  that  he  was  himself  sacrificing  too  i.iueh  for  tlv 
sake  of  one  goddess,  while  a  hundred  othc;-  were  atlorncd 
and  waiting  for  his  offerings,  he  promised  in  iialf  an  hour  i^ 
return  for  her  to  this  spot  by  the  fountain,  and  i)roceedd 
towards  the  Palace. 

Angelique  sat  watching  the  play  and  sparkle  of  the 
fountain,  which  she  compared  to  her  own  vain  exeriimb 
to  fa.scinate  the  Intendant,  and  thought  that  her  eff()rt>  had 
been  just  as  brilliant,  and  just  as  futile  ! 

She  was  sadly  perplexed.  There  was  a  depth  in  IIIl^oi'^ 
character  which  she  could  not  falhom.  a  bottomless  abv,^> 
into  which  she  was  falling  and  ccnild  not  sa\e  her.si!!. 
Whichever  way  she  turned  the  eidolon  of  ( "aroline  met  hr: 
as  a  bar  to  all  further  progress  in  her  design  upon  the  Ir. 
tendant. 

The  dim  half-vis'on  of  Caroline  which  she  had  seen  in 
the  pleached  walk,  she  knew  was  only  the  shatlow  and  pn- 
jection  of  her  (nvn  thoughts,  a  brooding  fancy  wliicli  ^in 
had  unconsciously  conjured  up  into  the  form  of  lur  haird 
rival.  The  addition  of  the  child  was  the  creation  of  lin' 
dee])  and  jealous  imaginings  which  had  often  croN^ed  lii.r 
miml.  She  thought  of  that  yet  unborn  pledge  ot  a  oik' 
mutual  affection  as  the  secret  spell  by  which  ( 'arcdiiie,  ])aic 
and  feeble  as  she  was,  still  held  the  heart  of  the  liiieudaii! 
in  some  sort  of  allegiance. 

"It  is  that  vile,  weak  thing!"  said  she  biticrly  and 
angrily  to  herself.  "  whicli  is  stronger  than  1.  it  i>  hy  thai 
she  excites  his  pity,  and  ])ity  draws  after  it  thi'  reitcwal  n! 
his  love.  if  the  liope  of  what  is  not  yet  bi'  so  |ioleni  wi'ii 
Bigot,  what  will  not  the  reality  i)rove  ere  long?  The  anni- 
hilation of  all   my  brilliant  anticipations!      I    have  drawn  i 


•'NO    Sl'KECII    OF    SILK    WILL    SKKVK    VOUK    TURN.        34I 


arkk'  of  thu 
liii  L'\(.Tii(in> 
Ljr  ellorl--  hini 

ith  in  ili,^oi'> 
piiilcss  .il)yy> 
sine  Ikth'!!. 
oliiu'  nu;l  lur 
upon   ihc  Ir.- 

had  seen  in 
(.low  and  pii  ■ 
cy  whicli  ^iit 

of  iici-  h;;Uu 
cation  ol  till' 
1   (~^o^^ed  lit-'r 

c:  ot  a  (UK- 
( 'aroline,  p.iic 
the  InU-'iulan! 


l)l;ink  ill  life's  lottery,  uy  the  rejection  of  Le  (Jardeiir  for  his 
^.lke !  It  is  tiie  hand  of  that  shadowy  babe  which  plucks 
iwav  the  words  of  proposal  from  the  lips  of  Higot,  which 
;'!ves  Ids  love  to  its  vile  mother,  and  leaves  to  me  the  mere 
lilies  of  his  passion,  words  which  mean  ncjthing,  which  will 
never  mean  anything  but  insult  to  Angelicpie  des  Meloises, 
Mj  long  as  that  woman  lives  to  claim  the  hand  which  but  for 
iilt  would  be  mine  !  " 

Dark  fancies  Huttered  across  the  mind  of  Angeliciue 
iluriiiij,  the  absence  of  the  Intendant.  They  came  like  a 
!li'j;lit  of  birds  of  e\il  omen,  ravens,  choughs,  and  owls,  the 
ciiihodiiiients  of  wicked  thougiits.  ISut  suc  h  thoughts  suited 
her  iiiood.  and  she  neither  chid  nor  banished  them,  i)ut  let 
ihe'in  light  and  brood,  and  hatch  fresh  mischief  in  her  soul. 

She  looked  up  to  see  who  was  laughing  so  merrily  while 
die  was  so  angry  and  so  sad,  and  beheld  the  Intendant  jest- 
iii;^  and  toying  with  a  cluster  of  laughing  girls  who  had 
i,iu:;lu  him  at  the  turn  of  the  broad  stair  of  the  terrace. 
riiev  kept  him  there  in  utter  oblivion  of  Angelique  !  Not 
thill  ^lie  cared  for  his  presence  at  that  moment,  or  felt 
;\ii;n\.  as  she  would  have  done  at  a  neglect  of  Le  (lardeur, 
l)!it  it  was  one  [)roof  among  a  thousand  others  that,  gallant 
ami  ua\'  as  he  was  among  the  throni:  of  fair  iruests  wIk;  were 
iLiitning  and  tempting  him  on  L\ery  side,  not  one  of  tiiem, 
iieiself  included,  could  feel  su.e  she  had 
pro^sion  lasting  Ion, 
heart  of  the  IntenthuU. 


made    an    im- 


;'er  than  the  present  moment  upon  the 


hut  bigot  had  neither  forgotten  Angelique  nor  himself. 
His  wily  spirit  was  contriving  hou  best  to  gi\e  an  impetus 
III  his  intrigue  with  iicr  without  committing  himself  to  any 
promise  of  marriage.  He  resohed  to  bring  this  beautiful 
hui  exacting  girl  wholly  under  his  power.  He  compre- 
iieiided  fully  that  Angelii|ue  was  |3repari;d  U)  accept  his 
IkuuI  at  any  moment,  na)',  .dmost  demandt.'d  it;  but  the  price 
•  it  marriage  was  what  Digol  would  not,  dared  not  jja}',  and  as 
a  true  courtiei"  ol'  the  i)eriod  he  beliexed  ihoroughl)'  ni  his 
•ihilitv  to  beguile  anv  woman  he  chose,  and  cheat  hei  of  the 
price  she  set  upon  her  love. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


THE  HALL  AT  rHK  INTKNDANTS  PALACE. 


THE  bevy  of  fair  <;irls  still  surrounded  lii.uot  on  the 
terrace  stair.  Some  of  them  stood  ieanini;'  in  i;iacclul 
pose  upon  the  balusters.  The  wily  girls  knew  his  anisiic 
tastes,  and  their  pretty  feet  i)atted  time  to  the  music,  wliiic 
they  responded  with  ready  glee  to  the  gossiping  of  the  ^av 
Intendant. 

Amid  their  idle  badinage  i>igot  inserted  an  arlfr.l  iinniirv 
for  suggestion,  not  for  information,  whether  it  was  Hue  iluil 
his  friend  Le  (lardeiu'  de  Repentigny,  now  at  the  MaiKjr 
House  of  Tilly,  had  become  affianced  to  his  cousin,  llckMse 
de  JvOtl)iniere  ?  There  was  a  start  of  surj^rise  and'gicai  cu- 
riosity at  once  manifested  among  the  ladies,  some  ol  wjioin 
jjrotested  tliat  it  could  not  be  true,  for  they  knew  ln'ttti  in 
what  direction  Le  (lardeur's  inclinations  pointed,  ()iht.r\ 
more  com|)assionate  or  more  spiteful,  with  a  touch  (»l  v\)\\. 
said  they  hoped  it  was  true,  for  he  had  been  *' jihed  by  ,i 
young  lady  in  the  city  !  "  Whom  they  "  all  kne'w  !  ""  added 
one  sparkling  demoiselle,  gixing  herself  a  twitch  and  throw- 
ing a  side  glance  wiiich  mimicked  so  perfectly  the  niamifi 
of  the  lady  hinted  at,  that  all  knew  in  a  inoment  she  me  an; 
no  (Hher  than  .Xngelitiue  des  Meloises.  They  all  huiuhcil 
merrily  at  the  conceit,  and  agreed  that  I,e  (lardeur  dc 
Kepenligny  would  only  ser\e  the  jiroud  llirt  light  l)\  iiiaii\ 
ni;>;  Heloise,  and  sh(.)wing  the  world  how  littli'  he  caii'd 
for  Angel ic|ue. 

"Or  how    much!"  suggested  an  experiencx'd  ami  li\tl\ 
widow,   Madame    La  Touche.     "  I  think   his  marrying    lli- 
loise  de  Lotbiniere  will  only   prove   the  desperate  cimdiUcn 
of  his  feelings.      He  will   marry  her,   nt)t  because  he  lovo 
her,  but  to  sj^ite  Angeli(|ue. 

'I'he   Intendant  had  reckoned  securely  on  the  success  oi 
liis  ruse  :   the  words  were  scarcely  spoken  before  a  naiplc 

.H2 


Till-;    HALL    AT    THE    INTLX I  )AM'  S    I'ALACE. 


343 


of  close  friends  (;f  x-Vngelique  found  her  out,  and  poured  into 
her  ears  an  e.\a<j;gerated  story  of  the  coming  marriage  of 
\x  (lardeur   with    Heloise  de   Lolbiniere. 

Annclicjue  believed  them  Ijecause  it  seemed  the  natural 
cuiiseiiuence  of  her  own  inlidelity. 

Ikr  friends,  who  were  watching  her  with  all  a  woman's 
curiosilv  and  acuteness,  were  secretly  pleased  to  see  that 
ilieir  news  had  cut  her  to  the  quick,  'i'hey  were  not  misled 
!iv  ihc  affected  indifference  and  gay  laughter  which  veiled 
the  resentment  which  was  plainly  visible  in  her  agitated 
'ho.'.oill. 

llcr  two  friends  left  her  to  report  back  to  their  com- 
paniniis,  with  many  exaggerations  and  much  pursing  of 
piettv  lips,  how  Angelique  had  received  their  communication. 
Tliev  lialtered  themselves  they  had  hatl  the  pleasure  of  iirst 
breaking  the  bad  tidings  to  her,  but  they  were  mistaken! 
Angc'lic|ue's  far-reaching  curiosity  had  touched  Tilly  with  its 
antenna',  and  she  had  already  learned  of  the  \isit  of  Meloise 
(le  Lotbiniere,  an  old  school  companion  of  her  own,  to  the 
MaiKH  House  of  Tilly. 

She  had  scented  tlanger  afar  off  from  that  visit.  She 
knew  lliat  Me'loise  worshipped  Le  (iardeur,  and  now  that 
.\;ii:c!i(|ue  had  cast  him  oil",  what  more  natural  than  that  he 
siiDuliI  fall  at  last  into  her  snares  so  Angelique  scornfully 
icriucd  the  beauty  and  amiable  character  of  her  rival.  She 
was  angry  without  reason,  and  she  knew  it ;  but  that  made 
her  still  more  angry,  and  with  still  less  reason. 

"  I'ligol ! "  said  she,  impetuously,  as  the  Intendant  re- 
jniiuil  her  when  the  half-hour  had  elapsed,  -'you  asked  me 
a  qucsiion  in  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  leaning  on  the  high 
;;al!cry  which  o\'erlo(jks  the  cliffs  1       I  )o  you  remember  it?" 

"I  do:  one  does  not  forget  easily  what  one  asks  of  a 
hcaulil'ul  woman,  and  still  less  the  reply  she  makes  to  us," 
replied  lie,  looking  at  her  sharjjly,  for  he  guessed  her  drift. 

"\ut  you  seem  to  have  forgotten  both  the  question  and 
ilic  reply,  l)igot.  Shall  1  repeat  them.^"  said  she,  with  an 
■lir  ol  affected  languor. 

"Xcedli'ss,  Angeliciue!  and  lo  prove  to  you  the  strength 
"f  iiiy  ineinor}',  which  is  but  another  name  for  the  strength  of 
iii\  admiration,  I  will  repeat  it:  I  asked  you  that  night-- 
'I  wa^  a  glorious   night,  the  bright   moon   shone   full   in  our 


344 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


faces  as  we  looked  over  the  shining  river,  but  your  eyes 
ecHpsed  all  the  splendor  of  the  heavens  1  asked  vou  to 
give  me  your  love ;  I  asked  for  it  then,  Ang.'lic.ut,- 1  I  aSk 
for  it  now." 

Angelique  Wiis  pleased  with  the  flattery,  even  wliile  sbj 
knew  how  hollow  and  conventional  a  thing  it  was. 

"You  '  .u\  a''  'Kit  before,  !>igoti"  replied  she,  "  and  you 
ad 'ed  a  rouli  si  sycdi,  which  1  confess  pleased  im;  that 
night  bet^e:  livth  ;  -nv.  \'ou  said  that  in  nie  you  had  fuund 
the  fair  havc:>  <>i  yi  m;  desires,  where  your  bark,  long  los^iing 
in  cross  seas,  and  bcaung  against  adverse  winds,  would  east 
anchor  and  be  at  rest.  'l"he  phrase  sounded  i)oeiiccil  if 
enigmatical,  but  it  pleased  me  somehow  ;  what  did  it  mean, 
IJigot.''  1  have  puzzled  over  it  many  times  since  pray 
tell  me  !  " 

Angelique  turned  her  eyes  like  two  blazing  stars  full  upon 
him  as  if  to  search  for  every  trace  of  hidden  thought  that 
lurked  in  his  countenance. 

"I  meant  what  I  said,  Angelique:  tliat  in  you  1  had  f(jund 
the  pearl  of  price  which  1  would  rather  call  mine  than  wear 
a  king's  crown.' 

"  Vou  explain  one  enigma  bv  another.  The  pearl  of  jiiice 
lay  there  before  you  and  you  picked  it  up  !  It  had  been  the 
pride  of  its  former  owner,  but  you  found  it  ere  it  was  loht. 
What  did  you  with  it.  Bigot.'" 

The  latendant  knew  as  well  as  she  the  drift  of  the  ani,ny 
tide,  which  was  again  setting  in  full  upon  him,  but  he 
doubted  luA.  his  ability  to  escape.  His  real  contempt  for 
women  was  the  lifeboat  he  trusted  in,  which  had  ( arried 
himself  and  fortunes  out  of  a  hundred  storms  and  tempesis 
of  feminine  wrath. 

"  1  wore  the  precious  pearl  next  my  heart,  as  any  gal- 
lant gentleman  should  do,"  replied  he  blandly:  •' 1  vould 
have  worn  it  inside  my  heart  could  1  have  shut  it  up 
there." 

liigot  smiled  in  comphicent  self-appro\'al  at  his  own 
.speech.  Not  so  Angelicpie  !  She  was  irritated  b\  his  ;;vn- 
eral  reference  to  the  duty  of  a  gallant  gentlem.m  to  tiic  sex 
and  not  to  his  own  special  duty  as  the  admirer  of  herself. 

Angelique  was  like  an  angry  pantlieress  at  this  lUMiiicn!. 
The  darts  of  jealousy  just  planted  by  her  two  friends  tore 


:iiic  ;    1  cuk 
I   while  s'lj 


oiij:;  tossing 


I  had  found 
e  than  wear 


as   any  gai- 

;     ••    1     WlHlllI 

sliiU    il  up 
;il    his   own 

)\    llis  ,^''11- 
n    [n  I  he  :->cx 

herself. 
lis  niMiucn'. 
rienils  loic 


A\r.r:i,i()ri'.  and  i-.Hior  i\  'iiii',  fiAUDi'.N. 


Tin 


her  side,  ai 
what  she  d 
like  luT,  sh 
ubJL'Cl.      SI 
brLM>t,  excl 
••\'()ii   lie 
heart,  a  It  ho 
niaiKjir  iicxl 
atter  pledi^i 
iiavf  adorn 
Angcliq  lie's 
liiry  as  she 
I'lie   Inte 
.ittack.      II; 
nature.    IJii;^ 
j  iiiMilt.  hill  f 
iaiigh  as  he 
plucked  i)as: 
I'lie  e}'es 
mischief,  bu 
licr  jealous) 
ile  was,   iiK 
liked  to  see 
i;>  black  clc 
tile  gusts  ar 
I't  ang-ry  le; 
tiuniglu  he  1 
«as  at  that  i 
Her  ijoini 
death  tor  a 
'iniior  of    jJiq 
P'ly  .1  uoina 
He  had   h 
'•Hit  it  left  n 
upon  a  life  t 
IliUl  this  1)(, 
'"  liis  power 
I  cooing  of  a 

'J'Sot  was  I 
Incitement  ol 
'■^■^  ^'ipture  g, 


Tin:    I!AM.    AT    THF-:    INTENDANT  S    PALACE. 


345 


her  side,  and  she  fell  reckless  both  as  to  what  she  said  and 
wiiat  >lie  dk\.  With  a  burst  of  passion  not  rare  in  women 
like  lu-r,  she  turned  her  wrath  full  upon  him  as  the  nearest 
yiijcci.  Slie  struck^  Hi^ot  with  her  clenched  hand  upon  the 
breast,  cxclaiiniuii;  wuth  wild  vehenrence. 

••  \()ii  lie!  I'ranrois  l>i_<j;ot,  you  never  wore  me  next  your 
/.cart,  alt hou5j;h  you  said  so!  Vou  wear  the  lady  of  IJeau- 
inanoir  next  your  heart.  Vou  have  opened  your  heart  to  her 
iikr  pledijjing  it  to  me  !  If  1  was  the  pearl  of  i)rice,  you 
havf  adoined  her  with  it  my  abasement  is  her  jj;lory  !  " 
Aiii^cliquc  s  tall,  straij^ht  lij;"ure  stood  up,  magnified  with 
i  ,rv  as  she   uttered   this. 

ilk'  Inlendant  htepjoed  back  in  surprise  at  the  sudden 
iiiack.  Had  the  blow  fallen  uj)on  his  face,  such  is  human 
n.rnue.  bigot  would  have  regarded  it  as  an  unpardonable 
:Miit,  but  falling  upon  his  breast,  he  burst  out  in  a  loud 
r.;i;h  a-,  lie  caught  hold  of  her  cpiivering  hantl,  which  she 
j/.uiked  passionately  away  from  him. 

The  eyes  of  .\ngelique  looked  dangerous  and  full  of 
mischief,  but  liigot  was  not  afraid  or  offended.  In  truth, 
[  inr  jealousy  flattered  him,  ap])lying  it  wholly  t(^  himself. 
lie  was,  moi'eover,  a  connoisseur  in  female  temper :  he 
iiked  to  see  the  storm  of  jealous  ragt;,  to  watch  the  rising  of 
ib  black  clouds,  to  witness  the  lightning  and  the  thunder, 
liii'  prists  and  whirlwinds  of  passion,  followed  by  the  rain 
•'i\  ano;ry  lears,  when  the  tears  were  on  his  account.  lie 
iluniii;ht  he  had  never  seen  so  beautiful  a  fury  as  Angelicjue 
w.;>  at  that  moment. 

Ilcr  pointed  epithet,  "Vou  lie!"  which  would  have  been 
death  tor  a  man  to  utter,  made  no  dint  on  the  jjolished 
aiinor  ot  bigot,  although  he  inly  resolved  that  she  should 
p.iy  a  Woman's  penalty  for  it. 

lie  had   heard  that  woi'd    from   other   pretty   lips  before, 

Init  it  left  no  mark  upon  a  conscience  that  was  one  stain, 

upon  a  life  that  was  one  fraud.      Still  his  bold  spirit  rather 

liked  this  bold  utterance  from  an  angi-y  woman,  when  it  was 

■  'nliis  power  by  a  word  to  change  her  rage  into  the  tender 

[cooiii;;  of  a  dove. 

Bii^ot  was  by  nature  a  hunter  of  women,  and  preferred  the 
Incitement  of  a  hard  chase,  when  the  deer  turns  at  bay  and 
''^■>  capture  gave  him  a  trophy  to  be   proud  of,  to  the  dull 


34^ 


TIIK    CiULDEN    DOG. 


con(|uest  of  a  tame  and  easy  virtue,  such  as  were  most  of 
those  which  had  fallen  in  his  way. 

"  Angelique  !  ''  said  he,  *'  this  is  perfect  madness ;  what 
means  tiiis  jjurst  of  anger  ?  Do  you  doubt  the  sincerity  of 
my  love  for  you  ?  " 

"  1  do.  Jiigot !  I  doubt  it,  and  I  deny  it.  So  long  as  vou 
keep  a  mistress  concealed  at  Ijeaumanoir,  your  pledge  lo  nic 
is  false  and  your  love  an  insult." 

"  Vuu  are  too  in!petuous  and  too  imperious.  Angelique: 
1  have  promised  you  she  shall  be  removed  from  IJeauinaiioir. 
and  she  shall   -    " 

"  Whither,  and  when  .?  " 

"  Tc  the  city,  and  in  a  few  days  :  she  can  live  there  in 
quiet  seclusion.      I  cannot  be  cruel  to  her,  Angelique." 

"  Hut  you  can  be  cruel  to  me,  Uigot,  and  will  be,  unless  you 
exercise  the  power  which  1  know  is  placed  in  your  iiands  hy 
the  King  himself." 

"  What  is  that .''  to  confiscate  her  lands  and  goods  if  ;,hc 
had  any  ? " 

"  No,  to  confiscate  her  person  !  Issue  a  hit  re  dc  cachat 
and  send  her  over  sea  to  the  IJastile." 

IJigot  was  irritated  at  this  suggestion,  and  his  irritation 
was  narrowly  watched  by  Ange'lic|ue. 

"  1  would  rather  go  to  the  bastile  myself !  "  exclaimed  he 
"besides,  the  King  alone  issues  h'ttrcs  dc  cac/ut :  it  is  a  myal 
prerogative,  only  to  be  used  in  matters  of  .State." 

"  And  matters  of  love.  Bigot,  which  are  matters  of  .State  in 
France!  Pshaw!  as  if  I  did  not  know  that  the  Kimj;  del- 
egates his  authority,  and  gives  Ictlrcs  dc  cac/ict  in  blank  to  hi^ 
trusted  courtiers,  and  even  to  the  ladies  of  his  Court,  bill 
not  the  Marquise  de  i'onqjadour  send  Mademoiselle  \'aulier 
nier  to  the  IJastile  for  only  smiling  ui)oii  the  King?  It  i>  a 
small  thing  I  ask  of  you.  Bigot,  to  test  your  lidelit).  yuu 
cannot  refuse  me,  come  !  "  added  she,  with  a  wontlrou^  iraib- 
formation  of  look  and  manner  from  storm  and  u,l<)um  t'J 
warmth  and  sunshine. 

"  I  cannot  and  will  not  do  it.  Hark  you,  Angelique.  1 
dare  not  do  it!  Powerful  as  1  may  seem,  the  family  of  that 
lady  is  too  potent  to  risk  the  experiment  upon,  I  would  f;un 
oblige  you  in  this  matter,  but  it  would  be  the  height  of  iiKiJ-j 
ness  lo  d(j  so." 


THE  HALL  AT  THE  INTENDANT  S  PALACE, 


347 


ere  most  of 


'Itn'  dc  i'Lichd 


Ills  iirilatmn 


•Well,  then,  F^ii^ot,  do  this,  if  you  will  not  do  that  !  Place 
iicr  in  the  Convent  of  the  IJrsulines  :  it  will  suit  her  and  me 
both,—  nc;  better  place  in  the  world  to  tame  an  unruly  spirit. 
She  is  one  of  the  pious  souls  who  will  be  at  home  there,  with 
plenty  c»f  jirayers  and  penances,  and  plent^  of  sins  to  pray 
for  every  day." 

•■  ikit  I  cannot  force  her  to  enter  the  Convent,  Angc'lique. 
jhc  will  think  herself  not  good  enough  to  go  there ;  besides, 
the  nuns  themseh'es  would  have  scruples  to  receive  her." 

"Not  if_iw/  rec[uest  her  admission  of  Mere  de  la  Nativite  : 
:he  bach  Superior  will  refuse  no  application  of  yours,  liigot." 

•Won't  she!  but  she  will  !  The  Mere  de  la  Nativite- con- 
>Klers  me  a  sad  reprobate,  and  has  ahead}',  when  I  visited 
ht^f  parlor,  read  me  a  couple  of  sharpest  homilies  on  my  evil 
vavs,  as  she  called  them.  The  venerable  Mere  de  la  Nati- 
vite will  not  carry  coals,  I  assure  you,  Angelique." 

"As  if  1  did  not  know  her !"  she  replied  impatiently. 
•Whv.  she  screens  with  all  her  authority  that  wild  nephew 
ol  hers,  the  Sieur  Varin  !  Nothing  irritates  her  like  hearing 
ahatl  report  of  him,  and  although  she  knows  all  that  is  said 
j1  hini  to  be  true  as  her  bre\iary,  she  will  not  admit  it.  'i'he 
nn's  c,':i7't-rs('s  in  the  laundry  were  ]Dut  on  bread  and  water 
viih  prayers  for  ;i  week,  only  for  re[)eating  some  gossip  they 
iiad  heard  concerning  him." 

■Ayl  that  is  because  the  venerable  Mere  Superior  is 
a-uchy  on  the  point  of  family,  —  but  1  am  not  her  nephew, 
-.•ma  hi  ilifferaihY  !"''  as  the  song  says. 

"Wl'111  but  you  are  her  nephew's  master  and  patron,"  re- 
plied Ange'li(|ue,  "  and  the  good  Mere  will  strain  many  points 
jtooblii^e  the  Intendant  of  New  b'rance  for  sake  of  the  Sieur 
Varin.     Vou  do  not  know  her  as  I  do,  iJigot." 

'What  do  you  ad'  'se,  Angc'liciue  ?  "  asked  he,  curious  to 
M.c  what  was  working    n  her  brain, 

"Thai  if  you  will  not  issue  a  Icftrr  dc  rar/irf,  you  shall  place 
jtik'huly  of  Beaumanoir  iii  the  hands  of  the  Mere  de  la  Na- 
tiviie  with  instructi(jns  to   recei\e   her   into  the  community 
|i!ierlhe  shortest  probation." 

"Very  good,  Angelique  !     Puit  if  1  do  not  know  the  Mere 

Superior,  you  do  not  know  the  lady  of  Beaumanoir.     There 

hre  reasons  why  the  nuns  would  not  and  could  not  receive 

"i^ruiall,  -   even  were  she  willing  to  go,  as  I  think  she  would 


34« 


TUK    GOLDKN    DOG. 


be.  lUil  I  will  provide  her  a  home  suited  to  her  station  in 
the  cit}'  ;  only  you  nuist  promise  to  speak  to  me  no  more  re- 
specting; her." 

'*  I  will  promise  no  such  thing,  Jiigot !  "  said  Ani^clicuie, 
firing  uj)  again  at  the  failure  of  her  crafty  plan  for  the  dis- 
posal of  (,"ar(jlinc,  "  to  have  her  in  the  city  will  be  worse  th;in 
to  have  her  at  iieaumanoir." 

"  Are  ycHi  afiaid  of  the  jjoor  girl,  Angelicpie,  -  you,  with 
y(nu'  suri^assing  beauty,  grace,  and  power  over  all  whu  ai> 
proach  you.''      She  cannot  touch  you." 

*•  She  has  touched  me,  and  to  the  quick  too,  alrcuU."  ^hc 
replied,  coloring  with  passion.  "  \'ou  love  that  girl.  I'laiK /^ 
lligot  !  I  <uu  nc\er  decei\ed  in  men.  You  lo\e  her  too  wtji 
to*give  her  up,  and  still  you  make  love  to  me.  What  am  I 
to  think?" 

"Think  that  you  women  are  able  to  upset  any  man's  ixm- 
son,  and  make  fools  of  us  all  to  your  own  purposes."  l!ij;i,i 
saw  the  uselessness  of  argument;  but  she  would  ikjI  diup 
the  topic. 

•'  So  you  say,  and  so  I  have  found  it  with  others,"  replied 
she,  "  but  not  with  \\m,  Jligot.  but  1  shall  ha\e  been  made 
the  fool  of,  unless  I  carry  my  point  in  regard  U)  this  lady." 

"Well,  tru.st  to  me,  Angeliciue.  Hark  you  !  there  are  rca 
sons  of  State  connected  with  her.  Her  father  has  pow.'iful 
friends  at  Court,  and  I  nuist  a':t  warily.  (li\e  nie  voiir 
hand;  we  will  be  friends.  1  will  carry  out  your  wi.ihe^  Im 
the  farthest    possible   stretch  of  my  power.      I   can  say  n  i 


more. 


Angelique  gave  him  her  hand.  She  saw  she  cnuld  nut 
carry  her  point  with  the  Intendant,  and  her  fertile  brain  w.'^ 
now  scheming  another  way  to  accomplish  her  ends.  .'>li' 
h  ul  already  undergone  a  re\'ulsion  of  feeling,  and  repeattil 
ha\ing  carried  her  resentment  so  fa.r,  not  that  she  lell  li 
less,  but  she  was  cunning  and  artful,  althougli  lui  tempc; 
sometimes  o\ertarned  her  craft,  antl  made  wreck  nl  iicr 
schemes. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  was  so  angry,  liigot,  as  to  strike  you  with 
this  feeble  hand."  Angelique  smiled  as  she  extended  her 
dainty  fingers,  which,  delicate  as  they  were,  had  the  slicnj;ih 
and  elasticity  of  steel. 

"Not  so  feeble  either,  Angeliciue!"  replied  he,  lauidii".- 


nil-:    I'.Al.l,    AT    THE    INTKNDAiNT  S    I'AI.ACi:. 


349 


alroa(l\,"  she 


•  few  men  could   plant  a  better   blow:  you  hit  me  on  the 
luMrt  fairly,  Angelique." 

He  seized  her  hand  and  lifted  it  to  his  lips.  Had  Queen 
Uitlo  possessed  that  hand  she  would  have  held  fast  /^luieas 
himself  when  he  ran  away  from  his  en;:;a<j;etnenls. 

Anij,elique  pressed  the  Intendant's  hand  with  a  grasp  that 
!cfi  e\er\'  vein  bloodless.  "  As  I  hold  fast  to  you,  Bigot, 
.md  lii>ld  you  to  your  engagements,  thank  (jod  that  you  are 
nn'i  a  woman!  If  you  were,  I  think  I  should  kill  you.  But 
.b  voii  are  a  man,  I  forgive,  and  take  your  i)romise  of  amentl- 
iiiriit.     It  IS  what  foolish  women  always  do!" 

The  sound  of  the  music  and  the  measured  tread  of  feet  in 
the  lively  dances  were  now  plainly  heard  in  the  pauses  of 
liieir  conversation. 

Tluy  rose,  and  entered  the  ballroom.  The  music  ceased, 
aini  rceonmienced  a  new  strain  for  the  Intendant  and  his 
i.iir  partner,  and  for  a  time  Angelique  forg(jt  her  wrath  in 
the  delirious  excitement  of  the  dance. 

Hut  in  the  dance  iier  exuberance  of  spirits  overflowed  like 
.\  toumain  of  intoxicivting  wine.  She  cared  not  for  things 
p,i>i  or  future  in  the  ecstatic  joy  of  the  present. 

Her  \(jlui3ttious  beauty,  lissomeness,  and  grace  of  move- 
ment enthialled  all  eyes  witli  admiration,  as  she  danced  with 
the  li.teiKJant,  who  was  iiimself  no  mean  votary  of  Terpsi- 
ihoie,  A  lock  o^  her  long  golden  hair  broke  loose  and 
-tieained  in  wanton  disorder  over  her  shoulders;  but  she 
heeded  it  n'.)t,  •- carried  away  by  the  spirit  of  the  dance, 
and  ih(,'  triumph  of  present  possession  of  the  coiully  Intend- 
mt,  llcr  dainty  feet  (lashed  imder  her  Hying  robe  and 
M.ucely  seemed  to  touch  the  Woov  as  they  kept  time  to  the 
>wifi  throbbings  of  the  music. 

The  Intendant  gazed  with  ra|)ture  on  his  beautifid  j)artner, 
•IS  she  leaned  u|X)n  his  arm  in  the  pauses  of  the  dance,  and 
thought  more  than  once  that  the  world  would  be  well  lost  for 
s^^keof  sui  ji  a  woman.  It  was  but  a  passing  fancy,  however  ; 
tile  serious  mood  passed  away,  and  he  was  weary,  long 
before  .\ngeli(|ue,  of  the  excitement  and  breathless  heat 
"f  A  wild  Polish  dance,  recentiv  lirst  heard  of  in  i''rench 
«tcieiy.  He  led  her  t(^  a  seal,  and  left  her  in  ilie  centre  of 
aswaiiii  of  admirers,  and  i)assed  into  an  alcove  to  cool  and 
f^'st  himself. 


CHAPTKR    XXXII. 


"on   with    thk  dance." 


B 


IGOT,  a  voluptuary  in  every  sense,  craved  a  eli.i 


i)i:c  ot 


pleasure. 


H 


e  was  never  satislied  lonji  wUh  oiu', 


am 


e\er  |)unfi;ent.      He  fell  il  as  a   relief  when  Aiiu,\TK|tU'  utn; 
off  like  a  !au<;hin^"  sprite  upon  the  arm  of   l)e  Teaii. 
j;lacl   to  get  rid   of   the   women    sometimes,   and    ful   likr 
man,"  he  said  to  Cadet,  who  sat  drinking;  and  telhiiL;  ^u>\k 


w 


ith    hilarious   laughter  to   two  or  three   boon  eomi 


an!()ii> 


md   uidul.<;m<2;  \\\   the   coarsest   jests 


th( 


an 


d    broadest   scaiicl, 


u 


about  the   ladies  at  the  ball,  as  they  i)assed   b}-  the  akiuc 
where  they  were  seated. 

The  ea<;er  persistence  of  Anj^elicpie.  in  her  dem.uid 


Kii  a 


/r ■///■,■  i//'  cadicl  to  banish  the  unfcjrtunate  Caroline,  had  wearied 
and  somewhat  disgusted  IJigot. 

"  1  'vould  cut  the  throat  of  any  man  in  the  world  fm  tin 
.sake  of  her  bright  eyes,"  said  he  to  himself,  as  she  ga\c  liiiu 
a  parting  salute  with  her  handkerchief;  "  Init  she  iini>t 
ask  me  to  hurt  tiiat  poor  foolish  girl  at  Ueaumanoir.  \( 
St.  I'icot !  she  is  hurt  enough  alreadv,  and   1   will 


111 


;  1 


ivit  lia\i. 


Angelit|ue  tormenting  her !     What  merciless  creatures  woiiKn 
are  tcj  one  another,  ('adet!"  said  he,  aloud. 

Cadet  looked  up  with  red,  inflamed  eyes  at  the  n-iiiark  I'l 
Higol.  lie  caied  nothing  fcjr  women  iiimself,  ami  iicvrr 
hesitated  to  show  his  contempt  for  the  wliole  se.\. 


•' Merciless  creatures,  do   vou  call  them,  lligot  ;   i 


ic  riau- 


of  all  the  cats  in  ( 'aeii  could  not  match   the   fingiT  iiail> 
jealous  wonuui  —still  less  her  biting  tongue." 

Angelique  des  Meloises  swejit  |)ast  the  two  in   a  stm 


111  IH 


music,  as  il   in  deliance  o 


f  th 


eir  sa<:e  criticisms. 


ha 


11(1 


rested  on  the  shoulder  of  the  Chevalier  de  Tean.  Slir  'ini 
an  object  whi(  h  made  her  I'lidure  it.  and  her  (lissiiinilalicn 
was  perfect.  Her  eyes  tr.mslixed  ids  with  their  daxzliHi; 
look.      Her  lips  were   wreathed   in  smiles;    she  talk' .1  cnii- 


cuiKcrning 


()\     Willi     III  I,     DANCi:. 


51 


ip;cli(|iK'  wi'ii'i 


•inuallv  as  slie  danced,  and  with  an  inconsistency  which  did 
iiM'i  seem  strange  in  her,  was  hmienting  the  absence  from  the 
Mil  ot  Le  Gardeur  de  Kepentigny. 

••('lu'\alier,"  saicl/^jshe,  in  reply  to  some  gallantry  of  her 
;),iitncr.  ■•most  women  take  pride  in  making  sacrifices  of 
■jiemselves;  1  prefer  to  sacrifice  my  admirers.  1  like  a  man, 
nnl  in  die  measure  of  what  I  do  for  him.  but  what  he  will  do 
1,  r  mv.  Is  not  that  a  candid  a\owal,  Chevalier  ?  V'ou  like 
tunkness,  you  know." 

Frankness  and  the  Chevalier  de  Tean  were  unknown 
quaiuities  together;  but  he  was  desperately  smitten,  and 
wdiild  Itcar  any  amount  of  snubbing  from  Angeliciue. 

"  \  ou  have  something  in  ycjur  mind  you  wish  me  to  do," 
replied  lie.  eagerly.  *'  I  would  poison  my  gran(hnother,  if 
a)u  a^ke(l  me,  for  the  reward  you  could  give  me." 

••  \'es.  1  have  something  in  my  mind,  Chevalier,  but  not 
conceinirig  \our  gr;uidmother.  Tell  me  wiiy  you  allowed 
LcOardeur  de  Kepentigny  to  leave  the  city?" 

"  I  did  not  all<jw  him  to  leave  the  city,"  said  he,  twitching 
his  u^ly  leatuies,  f(M  he  disliked  the  interest  she  expressed 
m  be  (lardeur.  "  1  would  fain  ha\'e  kei)t  him  here  if  I 
cmild.  The  Intendant,  too,  had  desperate  need  of  him.  It 
wa^  his  sister  and  Colonel  IMiilibert  who  spirited  him  away 
frijiii  us." 

"  Well,  a  ball  in  (J^uebec  is  not  worth  twisting  a  curl  for  in 
the  ahsence  of  Le  Gardeur  de  l\.e|)enligny  !  "  re|)lied  she. 
"\ou  sh;dl  promise  me  U)  bring  him  l)ac!  to  the  city, 
( liL'vaiier,  or   I    will   dance  with  )(ju  no  more." 

.\n:;elique  laughed  so  gaily  as  she  said  this  that  a  stranger 
wuuld  have  interpreted  her  words  as  ail  jest. 

"She  means  it,  nevertheless,"  thought  the  Che\alier.  "I 
will  promise  my  best  endea\()r.  Mademoiselle,"  said  he, 
si'ttiiig  hard  his  teeth,  with  a  grimace  of  dissatisfaction 
which  did  not  escape  the  eye  of  .\ngeli(|ue;  "  moreox'er,  the 
liuciukmi  desires  iiis  return  on  afiairs  of  the  Grand  ( 'one 
P'liiy,  AU(\  has  sent  more  than  one  message  to  him  ahead}, 
I'l  ur^e  his  return." 

"A  fig  for  the  Grand  ( 'oiiij)aii)- !  Kemember,  it  is  /di-^iie 
i>is  leiurn;  and  it  is  my  command,  iiol  the  Intendant's, 
^vliiih  )()u  are  l,>()und,  as  a  gallant  gentleman,  to  obey." 
Angclicpie  would  liaM!  no  divided  alle'giance,  and  the   man 


352 


iiii'.  (.()I.I)i:n    !)()(;. 


who  claimed  her  favors  must  give  himself  up.  body  and  s,(iii 
without  thouL!;ht  of  redem]Dtion. 


She    felt   very  reckless   and   ver\'   wilful    at    th 


inonicnt. 


The  lauj^hter  on  her  lips  was  the  ehullilion  of  ,i  hot  anfl 
angry  heart,  not  the  |)lay  of  a  joyous,  happy  sijirit.  Ili-m's 
refusal  of  a  /cllir  </,■  riti/ir/  had  stung  her  pride  to  tl 


an 


d    excited   a  feeliuir   of    resentment    which    fo 


If  i|Uick. 
uud    lis  ex- 


pression in  the  wish  for  the  return  of  I.e  (larduur. 

"Why  do  you  desire  tlie  return  of  Le  (rardeur?"  asked 
I)e  i'ean,  hesitatingly.  AngcMique  was  often  too  frank  kv 
half,  and  questioners  got  from  her  more  than  tlu:\-  liked  ii, 
hear, 

"  liecause  he  was  my  first  admirer,  and  I  ne\er  forget  ,i 
true  friend,  ( 'hexalier,"  replied  she,  with  an  uiulerujiie  oi 
fond  regret  in  her  voice. 

"  I)Ut  he  will  not  l)e  your  last  admirer,"  replied  I  )i.  I'ean, 
with    what  he   considered  a  seductive  leer,  which   iiiide  kii 


lauiih  at  hii 


n. 


in  the  kingdom  of  love,  as  in  the  kiDLdmii 


of  heaven,  the  last  shall  be  hrst  and   the   lirsl   la^t,      M, 
be  the  last.  Mademoiselle  .^  " 


"  You  will  certainly  be  the  last,  1  )e  I'ean  ;  I  | 


)roiin>e'  ili.u, 


Ange'liciue  laughed   provokingly.      She   saw  the-   eye  of  t 


If 


Intendant  walchinu'   her.      She  beiian   to  think   he  umii; 


lined 


longer  in  the  society  of  (Jadet  than  was  due  to  her  e 

"Thanks.  Mademoi.selle."  said  I)e  I'ean.  hardl 
whether  her  laugh  was  athrmative  or  ncgati\e  ;  " 
Le  Gardeur  his  precedence." 


\-   know  m:' 


hill 


eiivv 


Anaeliciue  s  love  for  Le  (lardeur  was  the  onh'  ke\  whicii 


ever  unlocked  her  real  feel 
d 


niLTS. 


W 


iU'U  (he  lo\   prai>e'(l  llie 


ravens  \oice  and  prevailed  on  \\v\  to  sing,  iie  (hd  H't  nn'iv 
surely  make  her  drop  the  t'n\  ied  morsel  out  of  her  iiiduii 
than  did  Angc'li(|ue  drop  ihe  m\>,tirication  she  had  woiii  se 
coc|uetlishl)'  before  I  )e  Pean. 

is   it    true   or   not  iha; 
if  iuuoni:  the 


Tell 


me, 


I)e    1 


(■an. 


saul    sne 


Le  dardeur  ile   Repentigny  is  consoling  himselt   :iiuon_u 
woods  of   Tillv   willi    a   fail"  cousin   of   his,    Ileloisr  dt   1. 


O'niere 
I)e   I 


can   had   ins   rcnciiiie, 


nul 


he   to( 


i-  till' 


•I!  (I    no  wond'  r, 


said 


he 


They   say  Heloise    is.   wiiiii'iit 


e\.ceiHion. 


iie  sweetest  iiirl   in    New    I'rance,   if  not  one 


le  hantksi.'inest. 


ON     Wrill    TllK    DAN'CE. 


od3 


•Without  exception!"  echoed  she,  scornfully.  "The 
women  will  not  believe  that,  at  ;iny  rate,  Chevalier.  I  do 
not  l)L'lie\e  it,  for  one."  And  she  laughed  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  beauty.     ''  1  )o  you  believe  it  .-^  " 

•■\i).  that  were  impossible,"  replied  he,  "while  Angelique 
(jes  Mcloises  chooses  to  contest  the  palm  of  beauty." 

••1  contest  no  ])ahn  with   her,  Chevalier;  but   I  give  you 
his  rosebud   for  your   gallant   speech.       IJut  tell    me,   what 
(loc^  i-c  Cardeur  think  of  this  wonderful  beauty?     Is  there 
anv  lalk  of  marriage  .-*  " 

"There  is,  of  course,  much  talk  of  an  alliance."  J)e  I'ean 
lied,  and  the  truth  had  been  better  for  him. 

Angcliciue  started  as  if  stung  by  a  wasp.  The  dance 
ceased  for  her,  and  she  hastened  to  a  seat.  "  I)e  Pean," 
bald  she,  "you  promised  to  bring  Le  (iardeur  forthwith  back 
to  the  city  ;   will  you  do  it  ?  " 

■T  will  bring  him  back,  dead  or  ali\e,  if  you  desire  it; 
hut  1  must  have  time.  That  uncom]jromising  ('olonel  Phili- 
iicri  is  with  him.  His  sister,  too,  clings  to  him  like  a  good 
anjicl  to  the  skirt  of  a  sinner.  Since  you  desire  it," — l)e 
IVan  spoke  it  with  bitterness, --"  Le  (lardeur  shall  come 
kick.  I)ut  1  doubt  if  it  will  be  for  his  benefit  or  j'ours. 
Mademoiselle." 

"Wlial  do  you  mean,  l)e  Pean  ? "  asked  she,  abruptly, 
iier  (l.uk  eyes  alight  with  eager  curiosity,  not  unmingletl  with 
appichcnsion.  "Why  do  you  doubt  it  will  not  be  for  his 
benefit  or  mine  ?     Who  is  to  harm  him  .''  " 

••\,i\.  he  will    only  harm    himself,   Angelitjue.      And,  b} 
St.  ricdi  !  he  will  ha\e  ample  scope  for  doing  it  in  this  cit\ 
He  has  no  other  enemy  but   himself."      I  )e   Pean  felt  that 
^he  was  making  an  ox  of  him  to  draw  the  plough  of  h  :r 
scheming. 

"Are  you  sure  of  that,  De  I'ean  ?"  demanded  she,  sha    >ly. 

"(^)uite  sure.  Are  not  all  tlu^  associates  of  the  Giand 
(j'mpany  his  fastest  friends?  Not  one  of  them  will  hurt 
liim.  I  am  sure." 

"(  lu\alier  de  I'ean  !"  said  she,  noticing  the  slight  shrug 
l>e  ,ij;a\e  when  he  said  this,  "  }-ou  say  Le  Ciardeur  has  no 
enemy  hut  himself;  if  so,  1  hojje  to  save  him  from  himsc^lf. 
nothing  moie.     'I'herjfore  1  want  him  back  to  the  citv." 


I'ean   glanced    towai'ds    iti^ol. 


Pardon    nu',   I\Ta<lL- 


354 


THE    (iOLDEX    DOG. 


moiselle.      Did  the  Intcndant  never  speak  to  you  of  l.c  Gar 
deur's  abrupt  departure  ?  "  asked  he, 

"Never!  He  has  spoken  to  you,  though.  What  did  \\^^ 
say  .''  "  asked  she,  with  eager  curiosity. 

"  He  said  that  you  might  have  detained  him  liad  vou 
wished,  and  he  blamed  you  for  his  departure." 

I  )e  Pean  had  a  suspicion  that  Angelique  had  nialK  heLii 
instrumental  in  withdrawing  Lc  Gardeur  from  the  c  iuit  lie- 
of  himself  and  associates;  but  in  this  he  erred.  .\ii^i'li(|ii,. 
loved  Le  Gardeiu",  at  least  for  her  own  sake  if  not  lor  lii>, 
and  would  have  preferred  he  should  risk  all  the  tlaniicr.s  of 
the  city  to  a\oid  what  she  deemed  the  still  greater  danj^cis 
of  the  country, —  and  the  greatest  of  these,  in  lier  opinion. 
was  the  fair  face  of  Heloise  de  Lolbiniere.  While,  {\-o\u 
motives  of  ambition,  Angelique  refused  to  marry  hira  her- 
self, she  could  not  bear  the  thouglit  of  another  getting  ihc 
man  whom  she  had  rejected. 

De  I'ean  was  fairly  puzzled  by  her  caprices  :  he  could  nut 
fathom,  but  he  dared  not  oppose  them. 

At  this  moment  l>igot,  who  had  waited  for  the  conchision 
of  a  game  of  cards,  rejoined  the  group  where  she  sai. 

Angt'lique  drev  in  her  robe  and  made  room  tor  him 
beside  her,  and  was  presently  laughing  and  talking  i.s  free 
from  care,  apparently,  as  an  oriole  warbling  on  a  suniiivji 
spray.  De  Pean  courteously  withdrew,  leaving  her  alone 
with  the  Intendant. 

Bigot  was  charmed  for  the  moment  into  obli\i<)n  of  the 
lady  who  sat  in  her  secluded  chamber  at  Pea'amanoir.  lie 
forgot  his  late  (luarrel  with  Angelique  in  admiration  of  her 
beauty.  The  pleasure  he  took  in  her  presence  shed  a  li\e- 
lier  glow  of  light  across  his  features.  She  observed  it,  and 
a  renewed  hope  of  triumph  lifted  her  into  still  higher  llii;his 
of  gaiety. 

"  Angelique,"  said  he,  offering  his  arm  to  conduct  heT  u> 
the  gorgeous  buffet,  which  stood  loaded  with  golden  disiies 
of  fruit,  vases  of  flowers,  and  the  choicest  confecii  Micry, 
with  wine  fit  for  a  feast  of  Cyprus,  "you  are  happy  toni-ht, 
are  you  not?  Put  jierfect  bliss  is  only  obtained  by  a  jmli 
cious  mixture  of  eartii  and  liea\en  ;  pledge  me  gaily  now  in 
this  golden  wine,  Angelique,  and  ask  me  what  favor  yn 
will." 


"ON    WITH    TIIK    DAXCK. 


355 


be  could  iiiil 


"And  you  will  ^^rant  it?"  asked  she,  turnin<^  her  eyes 
upon  him  eagerly. 

••Like  the  king  in  the  fairy  tale,  even  to  my  daughter  and 
halt  of  my  kingdom,"  replied  he,  gaily. 

••Thanks  for  half  the  kingdom,  Chevalier,"  laughed  she, 
••l)ul  I  would  prefer  the  father  to  the  daughter."  Ange'- 
1k|Uc  gave  him   a   look  of   ineffable    meaning.     "  I    d(^   not 


ilcsire   a 


king   to-night,   however.     Grant    me    the    /cttrc   dc 


:uhcL  and  then     ■'' 

" \\\i\  ihen  what,  Ange'lique?  "  lie  ventured  to  take  iier 
haiui,  which  seemed  to  tempt  the  approach  of  his. 

••  V(ju  siiall  have  vour  reward.  I  ask  vou  for  a  ktt)i'  dc 
uulicl,  that  is  all."      She  suffered  her  hand  to  remain  in  his. 

"I  cannot,"  he  replied  sharply  to  her  urgent  repetition. 
".\>k  her  banishment  from  lieaiunanoir,  her  life  if  xou  like, 
liiit  a  /,■///■('  lie  cache t  to  send  her  to  the  Jkistile  I  cannot  and 
will  not  give  !  " 

••  l!uL  I  ask  it,  nevertheless  !"  replied  the  wilful,  p'lSs  .  nate 
;^irl.  '•  There  is  no  merit  in  your  love  if  it  fear.-  .  isk  or 
biooks  denial  1  You  ask  me  to  make  sacrifices,  and  will  not 
lift  your  finger  to  remove  that  stumbing-block  out  of  my 
way!  A  fig  for  such  love,  Chevalier  Bigot!  If  I  were  a 
man,  there  is  nothing  in  earth,  heaven,  or  hell  I  would  not 
do  tor  the  woman  I  lo\ed  !  " 

Anmilifiue  fi.xed  her  bla/.ing  eyes  full  upon  him,  but  mag- 
nclic  as  was  their  fire,  they  drew  no  satisfying  reply.  "Who 
in  heaven's  name  is  this  lady  (jf  beaumanoir  of  whom  you 
are  S(j  careful  or  so  afraid  .''  " 

"1  cannot  tell  you,  Angelique,"  said  he,  (juite  irritated. 
"She  may  be  a  runaway  nun,  or  the  wife  of  the  man  in  the 
iri.in  mask,  or ~" 

••()r  any  other  fiction  you  please  to  tell  me  in  the  stead  of 
iiuih,  and  which  proves  your  love  to  be  the  greatest  fiction 
n!  all ;  •• 

"l'i>  not  be  so  angry,  Angelic|ue,"  said  he,  soothingly, 
seeiii;;  the  need  of  calming  down  this  impetuous  spirit, 
"hich  he  was  driving  beyond  all  bounds,  but  he  had  care- 
lt.'.vMy  ilropped  a  word  which  she  picked  up  eagerly  and 
tieasiuvd  in  her  bosom.  '*  Her  life  !  lie  said  he  would  give 
iiie  her  life!  hid  he  mean  it?"  thought  she,  absorbed  in 
tlii>  new  idea. 


5^^ 


TIIF'.    GOI.nKX     ])()(;. 


Angcli(|uc  had  cluklicd  tlie  word  with  a  feehn;;  of  ic 


rnljk' 


import.     It  was  not  the  first  time  the  thou<;ht  iiad  Hashed  its 
lurid  liuiit  across  iier  mind.      It  had  seemed  of  coniparaiivLlv 


n',n 


light    import   when   it   was   only  tlie    suggestion    of    ficr  ( 
wild  resentment.      It  seemed  a  word  of  terrible  power  licurd 
from  the  lips  of    i>igot,  }et   .\ni;ijii(,|ue  knew  well  he 


nid  iv,i 


m  tlie  least  seriously  mean  w 


ly 


hat  1 


t  is  hut  Ins  deceit  and 


llatt 


er 


le  sai 
,1 


d. 


y,    she  saui  lo  iiersi 


1  I. 


idle  phrase  to  co/en  a  woman.      I  will  not  ask  him  t 


"  e.\j)i,i!ii 

it,  1  shall  interpret  it  in  my  own  way!      Higot  has  said  word,, 
he  understood  not  himself;   it   is  for  me  to  give  thein  fi.ni, 


iincl  meanin<i. 


She  grew  cpiiet  under  these  reflections,  and  bent  I 
in  seeming  accjuiescence  to  the    Intendant's  decision. 
calmness  was  apparent  only. 

"  Von   are  a  true  woman,    Ange'lique,"  said   h( 
politician  :    you 


ler  hen 


ha\e    never    heard    thunder    at    \'er 


l)Ul  r, 
.Mlille- 


Would  that  I  dared  to  grant  your  retpiest.      I  offer  you  inv 


lomaiie  an 


d  all  else  I  have  to  irive  vou  to  half  m\-  k 


lULiMoin. 


An 


gelique  s   eyes 


flash 


ed 


tin 


It    i.^ 


f 


s   a  tairv  tale  alici 


all  1 "  exclaimed  she 


vou  w 


ill  not  srant  r[\Q  A'/Z/r  t/r  uu-f/.i : 


\s  I  told  vou  before,  J  dare  not  <rrant  that.  AiiLre 


JLVth 


ti 


i\vx: 


mil  else- 


You  dare   not !     You,  the  boldest    Intendant  ever 


.sen  I 


man   wIki 


to  .New  l<'rance,  and  say  you  dare  not ! 
worth  the  name  dare  do  anything  in  the  world  foi-  a  woiuaii 
if  he  loves  her,  and  for  such  a  man  a  true  woman  will  kb- 
the  ground  he  walks  on,  and  die  at  his  feet  if  need  he!" 
Angelique's  thoughts  reverted  for  a  moment  to  l.e  (rardeiu. 
not  to  Bigot,  as  she  said  this,  and  thought  how  he  woukl  (i' 
it  for  her  sake  if  she  asked  hii 


n. 


like 


"My  (lod,  Angeliciue,  you  drive  this  matter  hard,  hui 
you  better  so  than  when  ^•ou  are  in  xoiir  silkiest  liurnui 


niLiot,    it    were 


betl 


er 


} 


oil 


had 


an 


ted 


m\'   ret  1  not. 


a  ei 


Ange'li(.|iie  clenched  her  fingers  hard  together,  and 
expression  lit  her  eyes  for  a  moment.  It  was  like  the  ^ianu 
of  a  l\-nx  seeking  a  hidden  tieasure  in  the  ground  :  it  piiic 
tratecl  the  thick  walls  of  lieaumanoir  !  She  suppressed  i;i: 
anger,  however,  lest  bigot  should  guess  the  dark  iinaginiiiL:> 
and  half- formed  resolution  which  brooded  in  her  mind. 
With   her  inimitable   [jower  of   transfoiiuation  she  put  "" 


"ox    WITH    Till':    DANCE. 


357 


her  air  of  gaiety  af^ain  and  exclaimed,  "  Pshaw!  let  it  gjo, 
\'i\'U)[.  I  am  really  no  politician,  as  you  say;  I  am  only  a 
woman  almost  stilled  with  the  heal  and  closeness  of  this 
hurrid  ballroom.  'I'hatdv  (lod,  tlay  is  da\vnin<;  in  the  <;reat 
ca.Mcrn  window  yonder;  the  dancers  are  bei^innin;;"  to  deiKirt  ! 
\[\  l)rcjther  is  wailing  for  me,  I  see,  so  1  must  leave  y(ni, 
(lic\alier." 

••|)(j  iioi  depart  just  now,  Angc'lique  !  Wait  until  break- 
tasi.  which  will  be  prepared  for  the  latest  guests." 

••Thanks,  (!hevalier,"'  said  she,  "1  cannot  wait.  It  has 
been  a  gay  and  delighlful  ball       lo  ihem  wlio  enjoyed  it." 

"Among  whcjm  you  were  one,  1  hope,"'  replied  bigot. 

••  \'cs.  I  only  wanted  one  thing  to  be  perfectly  haiJi)y,  and 
thai  1  could  not  get,  so  I  must  console  myself,"  said  she, 
will',  an  air  of  mock  I'esignation. 

lli^ot  looked  at  her  and  lauglied,  but  he  would  not  ask 
what  it  was  she  lacked.  lie  did  not  want  a  scene,  and 
feared  U)  excite  her  wrath  by  mention  again  of  the  /cZ/rc  tie 
{diiui. 

-Let  me  accompany  you  to  the  carriage,  Angelique,"  said 
he.  handing  her  cloak  and  assisting  her  to  put  it  on. 

••Willingly,  Chevalier,"  replied  she  cociuettishly,  "but  the 
Chevalier  de  i'ean  will  accompany  me  to  the  door  of  the 
dressing-i'oom.  I  promised  him."  She  had  not,  but  she 
l.ieikoned  with  her  finger  to  him.  kSIic  had  a  last  injunction 
tor  De  i'ean  which  she  cared  not  that  the  intendant  should 
!:car. 

l)i'  I'ean  was  reconciled  by  this  mancevre :  he  came,  and 
Ani;vli(|ue  and  he  tripped  off  together.  "Mind,  De  I'ean, 
whal  I  asked  you  about  Le  (xardeur!"  said  she  in  an 
i;mj)lialic  wiiisper. 

'■  I  will  not  forget,"  replied  he,  with  a  twinge  of  jealousy. 
"he  (lardeur  shall  come  l)ack  in  a  few  days  or  De  Pean  has 
Ui  liis  inlluence  and  cunning," 

Ansfeiiciue  gave  him  a  sharp  glance  of  ap])roval,  l)ut  made 
no  fmilu:r  remark.  A  crowd  of  \'oluble  ladies  were  all 
iilliiiL;  ()\er  the  incidents  of  the  ball,  as  exciting  as  any 
iiii  ideius  of  Hood  and  field,  while  they  arranged  themselves 
y  departure. 

Till'  ball  was  fast  thinning  out.  Tlu'  fair  daughters  of 
'vJuehec,   with  disordered   hair  and  drooping   wreaths,  louse 


35« 


THK    (lOLDKN    DOG. 


sandals,  and  dresses  looped  and  pinned  to  hide  chaiut- 
rents  or  other  accidents  of  a  long  nii^ht's  dancing,  were 
retirinji;  to  their  rooms,  or  issuinj^  from  them  hootkd  ami 
mantled,  attended  by  obsequious  cavaliers  to  accoinpanv 
tiiem   home. 

The  musicians,  tired  out  and  half  asleep,  drew  their  !)i)u> 
slowly  across  their  violins  :  the  ver)-  nuisic  was  steejicd  in 
weariness.  'I'he  lamps  grew  dim  in  the  rays  of  nioniiir.. 
which  struggled  through  the  high  wnulows,  while,  niin-liiv' 
with  the  last  strains  of  L'ood-night  and  /'('//  /rAos.  cinic  a 
noise  of  wheels  and  the  loud  shouts  of  \alets  and  coacliiiKii 
out  in  the  fresh  air,  who  crowded  round  the  cUjor.s  ot  liic 
Palace  to  cc^nve)'  home  the  gav  rexeliers  who  had  that  ni^dii 
graced  the  splendid  halls  of  the  Intendant. 

liitrot  stood  at  the  door  bowing  farewell  and  thatik^  to  the 
fair  conipan}'  when  the  tall,  ciueenly  figure  of  .\nL;eli(|iic 
came  down  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  C'hex'alier  tie  I 'can. 
15igdt  tendered  her  his  arm,  which  she  at  (mce  accepted,  and 
he  accom])anied  her  to  her  carriage. 

She  bowed  graciously  to  the  Intendant  and  De  I'ean.  (Hi 
her  departure,  but  no  sooner  had  she  driven  off,  than,  throw- 
ing herself  back  in  her  carriage,  heedless  of  the  presence  ni 
her  brother,  who  accompanied  her  home,  she  sank  iiiln  a 
silent  train  of  thoughts  from  which  she  was  rousetl  willi  a 
start  when  the  carriage  tlrew  u|)  sharply  at  the  doiu  of  tluii 
own  home. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 1 1. 


I,A    CORRIVEAU. 


;\  hid  hi 


\(il',LI(^rK  scarcely  noticed  her  brother,  except  to 
liin  !^ood-ni(^ht  when  she  left  him  in  the  vestibule 
of  tliL'  mansion,  (lathering  her  gay  robes  in  her  jewelled 
luind.  she  darted  up  the  broad  stairs  to  her  own  ai)art- 
iiiciu.  the  s  line  in  which  she  had  received  Le  (lardeur  on 
lii.u  nu.nioral)le  night  in  which  she  crossed  the  Rubicon  of 
hs-r  fate. 

I'hiTe  was  a  fi.xedness  in  her  look  and  a  recklessness  in 
her  step  that  showed  anger  and  determination.  It  struck 
Lizolte  with  a  sort  of  awe,  so  that,  for  once,  she  did  not 
dare  to  accost  her  young  mistress  with  her  usual  freedom. 
The  maid  opened  the  door  and  closed  it  again  without  offer- 
11:;  a  word,  waiting  in  the  anteroom  until  a  summons  should 
coiiiL'  from  her  mistress. 

Li/elie  observed  that  she  had  thrown  herself  into  a 
faiitcuil,  after  liastily  casting  off  her  mantle,  which  lay  at 
her  feet.  Her  long  hair  hung  loose  o\er  her  shoulders  as 
it  parted  from  all  its  combs  and  fastenings.  She  held  her 
hands  clasped  hard  across  her  forehead,  and  stared  with 
fixed  e}es  u[)on  the  fire  which  burned  low  on  the  hearth, 
tlickering  in  the  depths  of  the  anticpie  fireplace,  and  occa- 
Monally  sending  a  Hash  through  the  room  which  lit  up  the 
pictures  on  the  wall,  seeming  to  gi\-e  them  life  and  move- 
iiuiu,  as  if  they,  too,  would  gladly  ha\e  tempted  Ange'liciue 
■>ii  in  Her  thoughts.  Uut  she  noticed  them  not,  and  would 
iKii  ai  that  moment  have  endured  to  look  at  them. 

Angeli(|ue  had  forbidden  the  lamps  to  be  lighted  :  it 
suited  her  mood  to  sit  in  the  half-obscure  room,  and  in 
iiuih  her  thoughts  were  hard  and  cruel,  fit  only  to  be 
lirouiled  over  in  darkness  and  alone.  She  clenched  her 
hands,  and  raising  them  al)o\e  her  head,  muttered  an  oath 
between   her  teeth,  exclaiming,  — 

359 


^, 


^^ 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


lii|2^    125 

■so  ^^"    niH 

■u  Uii   12.2 

g   La    12.0 

Ili^H 


1.4 


«^ 


?^ 


/] 


/ 


/A 


»*' 


'/ 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


33  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

WHSTIR.N.Y.  MSSO 

(716)I73-4S03 


'4^ 


•**■> 

*\$' 

^ 


36o 


Till-:    (iOLDKN    DOG. 


'•''  J\ir  Dicii .'  It  must  be  done!  It  must  be  done!"  Sin: 
slopped  suddenly  when  she  had  said  that.  *' Wiiat  iiiusi  he 
done  ?  ''  asked  slie  sharply  of  lierself,  and  hiu<;Iieil  a  iiidck- 
ing  lauj;h.  "He  jj;ave  me  lier  Hfe !  He  did  not  iiilmii  ii; 
N(j  !  The  Intendant  was  treating  me  like  a  petted  cliild. 
He  offered  me  her  life  while  he  refused  me  a  Icttic  lic  au-i'iit! 
The  j;ift  was  only  uj^on  his  false  lips,  not  in  his  heart !  Hut 
Bi^ot  shall  keep  that  promise  in  spile  of  himself.  There  is 
no  other  way,       none  !  " 

'i'his  was  a  new  world  An^x'licpie  suddenly  found  IkTsclf 
in.  A  world  of  jj;uilty  ihounhts  and  unresisted  templations, 
a  chaotic  world  where  black,  unscalable  rocks,  like  a  lirtlu 
of  the  Inferno,  hemmed  her  in  on  e\ery  side,  while  (Lvils 
whispered  in  her  ears  the  words  which  ^ave  shape  and  sub- 
stance to  her  secret  wishes  for  the  death  of  her  "ri\al.".i> 
she  regarded  the  poor  sick  <;irl  at  IJeaumanoir. 

How  was  she  to  accomplish  it  ?  To  one  unjiractised  in 
actual  deeds  of  wickedness,  it  was  a  cpieslion  not  easv  in  lie 
answered,  and  a  thousand  fri<i;htful  forms  of  evil,  stalkiii;' 
shapes  of  death  came  and  went  before  her  imajjjinalioii.  antl 
she  clutched  first  at  one,  then  at  another  of  the  clirr  miuuc^- 
tions  that  came  in  crowds  that  overwhelmed  her  powei  uf 
choice. 

In  despair  to  find  an  answer  to  the  ciuestion.  "What  must 
be  done.''"  she  rose  suddenly  and  raui;  the  bell.  Tlu'  dnui 
opened,  and  the  smilinj^  face  and  cle;;r  eye  of  la/''ttL' 
looked  in.  It  was  An<;c'licpie's  last  chance,  but  it  was  lii>t. 
It  was  not  Lizette  she  had  runj;  for.  Her  resolution  \\a> 
taken. 

"  My  dear  mistress  !  "  e.vclaimed  Lizette,  "  1  fearetl  you 
had  fallen  asleep.  It  is  almost  day  !  May  J  now  assist  you 
to  undress  for  betl  ? "  Voluble  Li/elte  did  not  always  wait 
to  l)e  first  spoken  to  by  her  mistress. 

"No,  Lizetle,  I  was  not  asleep;  I  do  not  want  to  un- 
dress; I  have  much  to  do.  I  ha\e  writing;  to  do  ixi'ii'  1 
retire;  send  I'anchon  1  )odier  here."  .\n;^elit|ue  had  a  l^n 
cast  that  it  was  necessary  to  deceive  Lizetle,  who.  wiiln'uta 
word,  but  in  no  serene  humor,  went  to  summon  lane  lu'ii  to 
wait  on  her  mistress. 

l"'anchon  presently  came  in  with  a  sort  of  triumph  •;y\\wv 
ing   in    her  l)lack   eye.     She   had   noticed   the   ill   huiuur  ut 


LA    COKKIVKAU. 


361 


a{j;inati{)n.  ami 


I  feuri'il  you 
o\\  assisl  yon 

)l  always  wail 

want  li>  uiv 
)  do  hclnro  1 
lie  had  a  turc- 
Jio.  witlimil  a 

II  I'aiu  lii'ii  to 


Li/ette,  but  had  not  the  sli<2;iUc.sl  idea  why  she  had  been 
Miinmoned  to  wait  on  An;;eli(iue  instead  of  her  own  niaiil. 
She  i^leenied   it  cjuite   an   honor,  iiowever. 

"  Fanchon  I  )odier !  '"  said  she,  "  I  have  lost  my  jewels  at 
the  i)all  ;  I  eann(;t  rest  until  I  find  them;  you  afe  (juicker- 
witlcd  liian  Lizette  :  tell  me  what  to  do  to  iind  tliem,  and  1 


will  LM 


\t'  vou  a  dress  lit  for  a  ladv 


Ani;cli(|ue  with  innate  craft  i<new  that  her  question  would 
Wwvj^  forth  the  iuijx'd-for  ie])ly. 

I  anchon's  eyes  dilated  with  pleasure  at  such  a  mark  of 
iniirulcnce.  "  \'es,  my  Lady,"  replied  she.  "  if  1  had  lost  my 
cwcls  I  should  know  what  to  do.  I5ut  ladies  who  can  read 
.111(1  write  and  who  ha\e  the  wisest  ^njntlemen  to  ^ive  them 
counsel  do  not  neetl  (o  seek  ad\  ice  w  here  poor  habitan  girls 
,11  wlu-n  in  trouble  and  perplexity ." 

•And  where  is  that,  l-'anchon  .'  Where  would  you  go  if 
ill  trouble  and  perplexity  ?  " 

"My  Lady,  if  I  had  lost  all  my  jewels,"  —  Lanchon's 
ktcii  eye  noticed  that  Angelique  had  lost  none  of  hers,  but 
^lk■  made  no  remark  on  it,  -  "if  1  had  lost  all  mine,  1 
>li()ul(l  5.^0  see  my  aunt  jose|)hte  Dodier.  She  is  the  wisest 
\uimaii  in  all  St.  X'alier ;  if  she  cannot  tell  vou  all  you  wish 
tn  kiidw,  nobody  can." 

"What!      Dame    Josephte    Dodier,    whom    they    call    La 


I  uiri\oau 


I 


Ai 


k 


s  she  your  aunt 


iiLjcli(|ue   knew^  \ery  well   she  wa' 


Hut  if  was  her  cue 


;o  pivtenil  igncjrance  in  order  to  impose  or.  l-'anchon. 

'■  \  is.  ill-natured  people  call  her  La  ('orri\eau.  but  she  is 
niy  aunt,  nevertheless.  She  is  married  to  my  uncle  Louis 
iiiiilitT.  but  is  a  lady,  by  ri^ht  of  her  mother,  who  came 
fiiiiii  I'lance,  and  was  once  familiar  with  all  the  jrreat  dames 


the  ( 


ourt.      It  was   a   Lrreat    secret   whv  her  mother   lell 


laiKo  and  came  to  St.  N'aliei  ;  but   I  never  knew  what  it 
People  used  to  shake  their  heads  and  cro.ss  themselves 


W.l.S. 


«hen  speaking  of  her,  as  thev  do  now  wlu-n  speaking  of 
Aunt  josephte,  whom  they  (all  La  ("orri\eau;  but  they 
'aL'iiii)le  when  she  looks  at  them  with  her  bl.ick,  e\il  eye,  as 
tlit'V  call  it.  She  is  a  terrible  woman,  is  Aunt  josephte! 
I'lit  oil.  Mademoiselle,  she  can  t»'ll  you  things  past,  present, 
"hI  to  come!  If  she  rails  at  the  world,  it  is  because  she 
'^llu\\s  every  wicked  thing  that  is  dime  in  it,  and  the  world 


V 


\62 


Tlir:    GOLDKX    l)()(i. 


rails  at  her  in  return  ;  but  people  are  afraid  of  her  all  the    I     "  I 


same. 

"  lUit  is  it  not  wicked  ?  Is  it  not  forbidden  by  tlu-  (  hurch 
to  consult  a  woman  like  her,  a  so/rihr  ^  "  Aii^elifiuc  took  a 
sort  of  perverse  merit  to  herself  for  arguing  against  ln.i  own 
resolution. 

"  Ves,  my  I-ady  !  but  although  forbidden  by  the  Church. 
the  girls  all  consult  her,  nevertheless,  in  their  U^ssis  and 
crosses;  and  many  of  the  men,  too,  for  she  does  know  v.h.u 
is  to  happen,  and  how  to  dcj  things,  does  Aunt  |oseplue.  Ii 
the  clergy  cannot  tell  a  poor  girl  about  her  sweetheart,  .inj 
how  to  keejj  him  in  hand,  why  should  she  not  go  aiul  (nii- 
suit  La  Corri\  eau,  w  ho  can  ?  " 

"  I'anchon.  I  woukl  not  care  to  consult  your  aunt.  iVdiilc 
would  laugh  at  my  consulting  La  Corri\eau,  like  a  simple 
habitan  girl ;   w  hat  w(juld  the  world  say  .^ "' 

"  l)Ut  the  world  need  not  know,  my  Lady.  Aunt  losiphte 
knows  secrets,  thev  sav,  that  would  ruin,  burn,  and  h.ui^ 
half  the  ladies  of  Paris.  She  learned  those  terrible  .sLLrLi^ 
from  her  mother,  but  she  keeps  them  safe  in  those  close  lip> 
of  hers.  \ot  the  faintest  whisper  of  one  of  them  has  e\ir 
been  heard  by  her  nearest  neighbor,  indeed,  she  has  no  ^(i> 
sips,  and  makes  no  friends,  and  wants  none.  .\unl  josephti 
is  a  safe  confidante,  my  Lady,  if  you  wish  to  consult  her." 

"  1  have  heard  she  is  clever,  supernatural,  terrible,  thi- 
aunt  of  yours!  but  I  could  not  go  to  St.  Valier  lor  aiUio 
and  help;  1  could  not  conceal  my  movements  like  a  plain 
habitan  girl." 

"  ,\'o,  my  Lady."  continued  l''anchon.  "it  is  not  littiu': 
that  you  should  go  to  Aunt  Josephte.  I  will  bri^^  Aunt 
b)sephte  here  to  you.  She  will  be  charmed  to  come  to  tin 
city  and  .serve  a  lad)'  like  you." 

"Well,  no!  it  is  not  well,  but  ill  !  but  I  want  to  ricovii 
my  jewels,  so  go  for  your  aunt,  and  bring  her  back  with  \ou 
.\nd  mind,  I'.uichon  I  "  said  .\ngeli(pie,  lifting  a  waniiiiu  li:: 
ger,  "if  \'ou  utter  one  word  of  jour  errand  to  man  or  jichi. 
or  li)  the  very  trees  of  the  wayside,  1  will  cut  (jut  \()ur  i(>ni;iu', 
Panchon  I  )odier  1  " 

{'"anchon  trenibled  and  grew  i)ale  at  the  fierce  look  "t  her 
mistress.  "1  will  go,  my  Lady,  and  1  will  keep  silent  a>  •' 
lish  !  "  falterecl  the  niaid.     "Shall  1  go  innnediatel)  :  " 


mme 

i.avc  far  t( 
Indian  ca 
-.1  niw  \i)\ 
vrraiul  be) 
Valier  by 
(111   iiiide! 
iiiidni.i;ht. 
n'jt  noise 
laiuJioii  I 
',f  mortal  1 

••1    'A  ill 

,!i!"  repli 
?iaiulin.n  1 

•  And  a 
Kmchoii. 

•'  \  L's.  n 
iy/cd  mull 
,i>  if  to  rei 

••  \'ou  n 

tut   VOU. 

i.uiicst  th; 
'Ail!  also  rt 
tlk'  ferry." 

".\o,'  til 

my  1  iJv." 
iail  they  ai 
ii'iatinan,  ; 
.iiul  more 
ihaii  are  s 
"  1  oiigl 
as  I'anclu 
.ind  burns 
iidthing  to 
1"  not  to  1 
I'lr  I, a  ( '(> 
iit-T  sugge 
hcaumano 
"your  fate 
iina;,uiK\ 
Y>\\  to  fall 


LA    C(JKKIVEAU. 


363 


•Immediately    if  you  will!     It   is   almost   clay,  and   you 

;;ive  far  to  ^(j.  I  will  send  old  dujon  the  butler  to  order  an 
Indian  canoe  for  you.  I  will  not  have  Tanadian  boatmen 
•.low  \()U  to  St.  N'alic-r :  they  would  talk  you  out  of  all  your 
vrrand  before  you  were  half-way  there.  \'ou  shall  'j^o  to  St. 
Wilier  by  water,  and  return  with  La  (,'orriveau  by  land.  Do 
nil  understand  ?  Ilrin^  her  in  to-ni;j;ht.  and  not  before 
midnight.      1  will  leave  the  door  ajar  for  you  to  enter  with- 

,;i  iioiM- :  \"ou  will  show  her  at  once  to  my  apartment, 
l.iiKlioii  I  lie  wary,  and  do  not  delay,  and  say  not  a  word 
•,i  mortal  !  " 

•1  will  not,  my  Lady.  Not  a  mouse  shall  hear  us  come 
n ;"  replied  I-'anchon.  cpiite  proud  now  of  the  secret  under- 
•uiulinL;  between  heiself  and  her  mistress. 

■Aiul  ai;ain  mind  that  loose  tongue  of  yours!  Remember, 
lanchon.  1  will  cut  it  out  as  sure  as  nou  live  if  xou  betray  me." 

"  \  cs.  my  Lady!"  I'anchon's  tongue  felt  .somewhat  para- 
y/.c(l  untler  the  threat  of  An<;elique,  and  she  bit  it  painfully 
is  if  to  remind  it  of  its  duty. 

"Vou  may  go  now,"  said  Vngelique.  "Here  is  money 
!ui  you.  (live  this  piece  of  jj;(jld  to  La  Corri\"eau  as  an 
i.iiiK'st  that  I  want  her.  The  canotiers  of  the  St.  Lawrence 
will  also  require  double  fare  for  brin^dng  La  C'orriveau  over 
the  ferry." 

"No,  they  rarely  \enture  to  charge  her  an\thing  at  all, 
111}  1  :ulv."  replied  I-'anchon  ;  "to  be  sure  it  is  not  for  love, 
iiul  ilu  y  are  afraid  of  her.  And  yet  Antoine  La  Chance,  the 
boatman,  says  she  is  ecpial  to  a  ISishop  for  stirring  up  j^iely ; 
and  more  .hr  Miirias  are  repeated  when  she  is  in  his  boat, 
ihiui  are  said  by  the  whole  parish  on  Siuiday. 

■  I  (iiight  to  say  my  Arc  Marids,  too  !  "  replied  Angeli(iue, 
.^  I'anchon  left  the  apartment,  "but  my  mouth  is  parched 
md  hurns  up  the  words  of  prayer  like  a  furnace:  but  that  is 
noihini;-  to  the  tire  in  my  heart  I  'i'hat  girl.  I' am  lion  Dodier, 
Mint  to  I)e  trusted,  but  I  ha\e  no  other  messenger  to  send 
I'T  I, a  (  orriveau.  I  must  be  wary  with  her,  too.  and  make 
htr  MiL,fLiest  the  thing  I  wouKl  have  done.  My  Lady  of 
iVaunianoir  I  "  she  apostrophized  in  a  hard  monotone. 
" your  fate  does  not  depend  on  the  Intendanl,  as  nou  fondly 
'iii'>,iiiiie.  I  Setter  had  he  issued  the  h'ttir  (ic  uu/irf  than  for 
:"^i  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  La  ('orriveau  !" 


3^4 


Tin*:    GOLDKN    DOG. 


Daylight  now  shot  into  the  windows,  and  the  bri;;lit  r., 


of   tl 


le    rising   sun   ^treanied    full    in   the  face  of    Aiu 


^'iHjUi 


She  saw  herself  retlected  in  tiie  lar<;e  V'^enetian  minor,  j^^^^, 
countenance  looked  pale,  stern,  and  fixed  as  iiiaii'le.  Tht- 
fire  in  her  eyes  startled  her  with  its  unearthly  .':;l"\v.  SIk 
trembled  and  turned  away  from  her  mirror,  and  v\\:\)[  [o  la- 
couch  like  a  guilty  thinjj^,  with  a  feeiinj;  as  if  she  \\,i^  did, 
ha_:;'L;ard,  ami  doomed  to  shame  for  the  sake  of  this  innjiid- 
ant,  who  cared  not  for  her,  or  he  would  not  have  (hi\iti  In: 
to  such  desperate  and  wicked  courses  as  never  fell  lo  the  l,,i 
of  a  woman  before. 

"  C'lS/  .ur  J\inti' .'  C'isf  S(i  fiitttc  !'"  exclaimed  she.  cl.isijiii^ 
her  hands  passionately  toi;ether.  "  If  she  dies,  it  i.s  his  i.iiilt, 
\\(A  mine  !  1  pr.iyed  him  tt)  banish  her,  and  he  would  nut' 
C\'st  sa  fdiitr  !  C\st  Sii  faiitc  '.  "     ls.epeatin<;  these  words  An^^c- 

iiib 


lique  fell  into  a  feverish  slumber,  l)roken  by  frightful  (he; 


which  lasted  far  on  into  the  d; 


ly. 


The  lon<;  rei<;n  of  Louis  XTV.,  full  of  Ljlories  ;iii(i 
misfortunes  for  France,  was  marked  towards  its  cld-e  hv  a 
portentous  sign  indicative  of  corrupt  manners  and  a  hilling' 
state.      Among  these,  the  crimes  of  secret  poisoninn  sinld 


ly  atti 


lined  a  maunilude   which   tilled  the  whole  naiion 


(.Ml- 

wilh 


terror  and 


arm. 


Antonio  Kxili,  an  Italian,  like  many  other  alclumist^ 
of  that  i^eriod,  had  spent  \ears  in  search  of  the  jihilosophci^ 
stone  and  the  elixir  of  life.      His  vain  experiments  to  tr.iiiv 


mute    the  baser  metals   into   irold   reduced   him   to 


powny 


and  want.  I  lis  tpiest  after  these  secrets  had  led  him  lu  >tii(l 
(lee|)ly  the  nature  and  composition  of  i)ois()ns  and  their 
antidotes.  lie  had  visited  the  great  uni\ iMsities  and  iitlici 
schools  of  the  continent,  linishing  his  scientitic  studies 
under  a  famous  (lerman  chemist  named  (llasi'r.  Hut  tin- 
terrible    secret    of    the    aifitd    tofiVhi    and    of   the  /'I'liJir  ./i 


SI/uCSS/O/l, 


Kxili 


i    learned    from    I'eatrice 


S|iara, 


a    Mcili.iii. 


with  whom  he  had  a  liaison,  one  of  those  inscrutable  l)Uii;:> 
of  the  gentle  sex  whose  lust  for  pleasuie  or  |)0\\er  is  mii} 
e(pialled  l)v  the  atrocities  the)'  are  willing  to  pei|Klrali' 
upon  i'dl  who  stand  in  the  way  of  their  desires  oi  ll 
ambition. 

To    lleatrice    Spara,    the   secret    of    this    subtle    prrpara- 
tion  had  come  down  like  an  evil  inheritance   from   tlir  an 


lei 


LA    COKKIVKAU. 


3^>5 


he  bii;^lii  r..,> 
of    All^icliquL, 

1  minor.  Hd 
nicuhle.     TIk- 

ily  :4l"\v.    siu- 

id  crept  to  I,,.-; 
f  she  w.i^  (,l(i, 
of  thJN  Inuihl- 
;ivc  (hivcn  hui 
r  fcH  1(1  tlu'  l(it 

(1  she.  claspiii:,' 
.,  il  is  hi^  i,ti;l;, 

lie   would  IKU  ' 

sc  wolds  Anm. 
"il^hlful  (Ireaiu- 

ji  ^lorirs  aiii', 
its  c'lo-c  l)v  a 
s  antl  a  falliii,' 
soiling  siidik'ii- 
)lc  luuioii  wiili 

icr    ;ilclirnii>t> 

e  philosopher'^ 

nenls  to  tr.ui>- 

im    to    powriy 

him  to  study 

oils   and   their 

lies  and  nthei 

cut i tic    stiiclii.'> 

SIT.       Dm  llif 

the  /'('//i//r  ,,v 

ra,    a    Sicilian, 

rulahlc  hunu^ 

power  is  onl} 

to    perpetrate 

jsiros   or  theii 

ahtle    pri  para- 
from   the  an- 


^iiiU  Candidas  and  Sa^ana.s  of  imperial  Rome.  In  the 
jioud  palaces  of  the  Hor^ias,  of  the  Orsinis,  the  Scalijj;ers, 
the  jiorromcos,  the  ait  of  [xjisoninj;  was  preser\ed  among 
'jie  last  resorts  of   Machia\ellian  statecraft;   and  not  only  in 


iulace 


111  ( 


hut  in  streets    of   Italian    cities,   in  solita 


ry  towers 


ark  recesses  of  the  Apennines,  were  still  to  he  found 
;jie  lost  children  of  science,  skilful  ccjinpounders  of  poisons, 
,it  oiico  fatal  and  sul»tle  in  their  o[>erali()n,  poisons  which 
''d[  not  the  least  Irate  of  their  presence  in  the  bodies  of 
•JK'ir  victims,  but  put  on  the  appearance  of  other  and  more 


natural 


causes  of  death. 


Kxili,  to  escape  the  vengeance  of  IJeatrice  Spara,  to 
wiiom  he  had  j^roved  a  faithless  lover,  lied  from  Naples, 
ami  i)roui;ht  his  deadly  knowledge  to  Paris,  where  he  soitn 
iiiuiul  congenial  spirits  to  work  with  him  in  preparing  the 
(Icad'y  l^oiidre  dc  suiccssioii^  and  the  colorless  drops  of  the 
■;/(^  toJilihU 

Willi  all  his  crafty  caution,  l'!xili  fell  at  last  under  sus- 
picion of  the  police  f(jr  tampering  in  these  forbidden  arts, 
lie  was  arrested,  and  thrown  into  the  liastile,  where  he  be- 
anie the  occupant  of  the  same  cell  with  (}audin  de  St. 
I  ini\,  a  young  nobleman  of  the  Court,  the  lover  of  the 
Marchioness  de  Hrinxillier.s,  for  an  intrigue  with  whom  the 
I  iiuiit  had  been  imprisoned.  St.  Croix  learned  from  I'Aili, 
in  the  liastile,  the  secret  of  the  poiiilrt'  dc  siiccrssii'ii. 

The  two  men  were  al  last  liberated  for  want  of  proof  of 
ilic  charges  against  them.  St.  Croix  set  up  a  laboratory 
in  his  own  house,  and  at  once  i)roceeded  to  experiment 
iipoii  the  terrible  secrets  learned  from  Mxili,  and  which  he 
iL'vealed  to  his  fair,  frail  mistress,  who,  mad  to  make  her- 
nlf  hi■^  wife,  saw  in  these  a  means  to  remove  e\erv  obstacle 

It  of  the  wa\'.  She  ])oisoned  her  husband,  her  fatliei,  her 
iii'iher.  antl  at  last,  carried  away  by  a  mania  for  murder, 
I'iniiiiistered  on  all  sides  the  fatal  /^'/a/vv  dr  sitcccssiiui,  which 
:'inii;hi  death  to  house,  palace,  and  hospital,  and  hlled  the 
i-.ipital,  nay.  the  whole  kingdom,  with  suspicion  and  terror. 

liiis  fatal  poison  history  describes  is  either  a  light  and 
Almost  impalpable  powder,  tasteless,  colorless,  rnd  inodor- 
<'us.  or  a  li(|uid  clear  as  a  dewdrop,  when  in  the  form  of 
'lie'  (^/.V(^  tofivuu  It  was  capable  of  causing  death  either 
'ii>taiuaiU!ously  or  by  slow  and   lingering  dei  line  at  the  end 


366 


TIIK    (iOLDI.N     I)()(i. 


of  a  clefinilc  nuiiiher  of  days,  weeks,  or  even  nidntliv,.  a. 
was  desired.  heath  was  not  less  sure  l)ecause  deferred,  and 
it  could  be  made  to  assume  the  a[)]K'arance  of  dinnl)  paia'v- 
sis,  wastinj;  atrophy,  or  burning  fever,  at  tiie  discretion  uf 
the  compounder  of  the  fatal   poison. 

The  ordinary   effect   of   the   a</ii(-i   toJ\jiia    was   iniiiudiaii 

>il::n::. 

Ml   :i 


death.  The  f^ititdrc  ih'  siticcssioii  was  more  slow  in 
It  produced  in  its  pure  form  a  buniinj^  heat,  like  ilui 
fiery  furnace  in  the  chest,  the  llames  of  which,  as  ijk\  (f,n 
sumed  the  patient,  darted  out  of  his  eyes,  the  ()iil\-  part  ol 
the  i)ody  which  seemed  to  be  alive,  while  the  rest  \\a>  liitk 
more  tiian  a  dead  corpse. 

Upon     the     introduction     of    this    terrible     poison    inii 
I'Vance,  Death,  like  an  invisible  spirit  of  e\il.  »;iide(l 


a  Do 


ut  th 


e  kniu,(lom,  creepi 


ni 


into  the  closest  fainiiv 


ciiilc^ 


seizing;  everywhere  on  its  helpless  \ictims.  'llie  iKarot 
and  dearest  relationships  of  life  were  no  longer  the  >.ilc 
guardians  of  the  domestic  hearth.  'I'he  man  who  lo-dav 
apj)eared  in  the  glow  of  health  dr(joi)ed  to-nuMTow  and 
died  the  next  day.  No  skill  of  the  physician  wa>  able  Ui 
save  him,  or  to  detect  the  true  cause  of  his  death,  atliibutin;' 
it  usually  to  the  false  ai)pearances  of  disease  whit  li  it  \va> 
made  to  assume. 


The  victims  of  the /r;/////-.-  dc  siicrrs 


s!0)i   were  coun 


ted  bv 


thousands.  The  j)ossessi(jn  of  wealth,  a  lucrative  oITicl'.  a 
fair  young  wife,  or  a  coveted  husband,  were  suftu  ient  ita- 
sons  for  sudden  death  to  cut  off  the  holder  of  the-^L  cinial 
lilessings.      A    terrible    mistrust   ])er\  aded  all   classes  of 


so- 


cielv.  The  husband  trend)led  before  Ids  wife,  the  wife  be- 
fore her  iuisband,  father  and  son,  brother  and  sister,  kindred 
and  friends,  of  all  degrees,  looked  askance  and  with  sii>- 
picious  e\es  upon  one  another. 

In  I'aris  the  terror  lasted  long.  Society  wa>  for  a 
while  broken  up  in"  cruel  suspicions.  The  meat  iipnn  tlu' 
table  remained  uneaten,  the  wine  undiank,  men  and  wcniiii 
l)rocured  their  own  provisions  in  the  market,  ami  cooked 
and  ate  them  in  their  own  apartments.  A'ct  was  c\ cry  pre- 
caution in  \-ain.     The  fatal  dust  scattered  ujxin  the  i 


)ill()\\. 


or 


a    boucpiet     sprinkled     with     the    lUjua    iofana. 


loo 


kin:: 


bright  and  innocent  as  (Joil's   dew  upon  the  dower>.  traa- 
mitted  death  without  a  warninu  of  danger.       Xav,  lo  crow; 


r.A    COKKIVEAU. 


3^7 


t'li  iiKiiiths.  as 
e  deffiTc-d.  an  J 
■  (luml)  paia!v- 
i   cliburctii)n  nf 

a-as  inmicdiatr 
ilow  ill  kiliiii;^', 
,  like  ili.ii  (ii  a 
h.  as  ihcy  (on 
ic  only  part  of 
rest  was  link' 

:;     poison    inin 

j^iiilcd  siloiiilv 

family  ciixlo. 

'I'hc    niMiot 

on<rcr  the  >ate 

lan   who   U'-iLiv 

lo-nujiTow   aiul 

an  was  able  lo 

■alb.  allributiii;,' 

ie  wbicb  it  \va> 

LTc  counted  by 

ciati\c  orfKe.  X 

;   sutVn  ieiU  RM- 

C)f  tbcsr  cn\iai 

classes  of  so- 

e,  the   wife  he- 

islor,      kindra! 

and   wiili  su>- 

ely  wa-^  fov  a 
nuMl  upon  the 
icn  ami  women 
et.  and  cooked 

was  every  jMc- 
pon  the  piikiw. 
iofiVhu  lookin;: 
.!  dowers,  tva:r 

Nav.  lo  erow:-. 


;;  suinniit  of  wickedness,  the  bread  in  the  hospitals  of  the 
sick,  the  meagre  tables  of  the  con\enl,  the  consecrated 
],o>t  administered  by  the  priest,  and  the  sacramental  wine 
v.hich  be  drank  himself,  all  in  turn  were  poisoned,  polluted, 
damned,  by  the  unseen  presence  of  the  manna  of  St.  Nich- 
olas, as  the  populace  mockinjj;ly  called  \\\*t  pO!(Jfr  dc  siiiWssion. 

I'hc  Court  took  the  alarm  when  a  gilded  vial  of  the 
,;y//.c  I'lfifiiii  was  found  one  day  ujion  the  table  of  the  I  )u- 
che-se  de  la  Vallicre,  ha\  ing  been  placed  there  by  the  band 
of  some  secret  rival,  in  order  to  cast  suspicicjn  upon  the 
unhapi^y  Louise,  and  hasten   her  fall,  already  approaching. 

The  star  of  Montespan  was  rising  bright  in  th.e  east, 
,111(1  that  of  La  N'alliere  was  setting  in  clouds  and  darkness 
in  ihc  west.  IJut  the  King  ne\er  distrusted  for  a  moment 
the  truth  of  La  \'alliere,  the  only  woman  who  ever  loved 
him  for  his  own  sake,  and  he  knew  it  even  while  he  allowed 
her  to  be  supplanted  by  another  intiniiely  less  worthy  one 
whose  hour  of  triumph  came  when  she  saw  the  iMoken- 
hearted  Louise  throw  aside  the  \elvet  and  brocade  of  the 
f'uiut  and  put  on  the  sackcloth  of  the  barefooted  and 
repentant  Carmelite. 

The  King  burned  with  indignation  at  the  insult  offered 
tn  his  mistress,  and  was  still  more  alarmed  to  find  the  new 
niyslerious  death  creeping  into  the  corridors  of  his  palace. 
He  hastily  constituted  the  terrible  C/ianihr  Ardriiti',  a  court 
of  supreme  criminal  jurisdiction,  and  commissioned  it  to 
search  out,  try,  and  burn,  without  appeal,  all  poisoners  and 
secret  assassins  in  the  kingdom. 

La  Regnie,  a  man  of  Rhadamanthean  justice,  as  hard  of 
heart  as  he  was  subtle  and  susjiicious,  was  U^ig  babied,  and 
to  his  unutterable  rage,  set  at  naught  by  the  indefatigable 
jxii.soners  who  kejit  all  I'Vance  awake  on  its  pillows. 

History  records  how  (laudin  de  St.  Croix,  the  disciple 
of  Exili.  while  working  in  bis  secret  laboratory  at  the  sub- 
hmation  of  the  deatlly  poison,  accidentally  dropped  the  mask 
of  i^lass  which  protected  his  face.  lie  inhaled  the  noxious 
liimes  and  fell  dead  by  the  side  of  his  crucibles.  'I'his 
<-*vem  gave  De.sgrais,  captain  of  the  i)olice  of  Parks,  a  clue  to 
the  honors  which  had  so  long  balded  bis  pursuit. 

I'he  corresjiondence  of  St.  Croix  was  seized.  His  con- 
nection with  the   Marchioness  de   brinvilliers  and  his  rela- 


368 


Tur.  <;()i.i>r.\   ixk;. 


tions  with  I'-xili  were  (liscovcrcd.  I'.xili  was  lliiown  ,i 
SL'coiul  time  into  the  Haslik".  The  Maithioiicss  wa.s  ar 
rested,  ami  put  upon  her  trial  before  the  Chiiinhrr  AidniU, 
where,  as  recorded  in  the  narrative  of  her  confessor,  I'ii,,!, 
her  ravishing  beauty  of  feature,  bhie  eyes,  snow-white  ->V\\\, 
and  gentle  demeanor  won  a  strong  sympathy  fioiu  the  lidsli 
popuhice  of  Paris,  in  whose  eyes  her  cliarms  of  person 
and  manner  pleailed  hard  to  extenuate  her  unpar.illdcii 
crimes. 

I)Ut  no  power  of  l)eauty  or  fascination  of  look  could 
move  the  stern  I.a  Rei;nie  from  his  judgment.  She  v,,i> 
pronounced  i^uiity  of  the  death  of  her  husband,  and  ^cn 
tenced  fust  to  be  lorlined  and  then  beheaded  and  lui  hmlv 
l)urnt  on  the  Place  de  (Jreve,  a  sentence  w  hich  was  cairiu! 
out  to  the  letter.  The  ashes  of  the  fairest  and  most  wiiknl 
dame  of  the  Court  of  Lous  XIV.  were  scattered  to  llie  four 
corners  of  the  city  which  had  been  the  scene  of  her  iin|);\r 
alleled  crimes.  The  arch-poi.-^oner  Iv\ili  was  also  uicd, 
and  condemned  to  be  burnt.  The  tumbril  that  bore  liiiu  1 1 
execution  was  stopped  on  its  way  by  the  furious  rabhle,  and 
he  was  torn  in  jiieces  by  them. 

For  a  short  time  the  kingdom  breathed  freely  in  fancid 
security;  but  soon  the  eijidemic  of  sudtlen  as  well  as  linger- 
ing deaths  from  poison  broke  out  again  on  all  sitles.  The 
fatal  tree  of  the  knowledge  of  evil,  seemingly  cut  down  with 
Kxili  and  St.  Croix,  had  sprouted  afresh,  like  a  upas  that 
could  not  be  destroyed. 

The  poisoners  l)ecame  more  numerous  than  ever.  Fol- 
lowing the  track  of  St.  Croix  and  I.a  Hrinvilliers.  tluy 
carried  on  the  war  against  humanity  without  relaxation, 
Chief  of  these  was  a  reputed  witch  and  fortune-teller  naiiKHl 
La  Voisin,  who  had  studied  the  infernal  secret  under  Kxili 
and  borne  a  daughter  to  the  false  Italian. 

With  La  Voisin  were  associated  two  priests,  Le  Sa^^o  and 
Le  Vigoureux,  who  lived  with  her,  and  assisted  her  in  lur 
necromantic  exhibitions,  which  were  visited,  believed  in.  and 
richly  rewarded  by  some  of  the  foremost  people  of  the  (  ourt. 
These  necromantic  exhibitions  were  in  reality  a  rover  tn 
darker  crimes. 

It  was  long  the  popular  belief  in  l*"rance,  that  Carclinal 
Hon/y  got  from  La  X'oisin  the  means  of  ridding  himself  of 


I.  A    c:()KKI\KAL'. 


3^>9 


«in(lr\'  persons  who  stood  in  tlie  way  of  his  ecclesiastical 
prekiiiicnt,  or  to  whom  he  liad  to  pa)  j)ensions  in  his 
qualitv  of  Archbishop  of  Xarhonne.  The  i  )ucliesse  de 
llor.iili'ii  and  liie  ( 'ountess  of  Soissons,  mother  of  the 
[,imou>  I'rince  l''.ufj;enc,  wi-re  al>.o  accused  of  trafficking 
uiti)  lliat  trrrihle  woman,  and  were  hanislu-d  from  the 
Kiiimloin  in  consecpience,  while  a  ro\al  duke,  l''ran«.ois  de 
\Iiinln!orency.  was  also  suspected  of  dealings  with  La 
\uiMin. 

The  Chainhrc  Ardnitr  struck  ri;j;ht  and  left.  I)es<;rais, 
,hi(.f  t)f  the  police,  by  a  crafty  ruse,  penetrated  into  the  se- 
irtl  ( ircle  of  La  X'oisin,  and  she,  with  a  crowd  of  associates, 
piii^lied  in  the  tires  of  the  IMace  de  (Ire-\e.  She  left  an 
M->iaiie(l  dauf^hter,  Marie  Kxili,  to  the  blank  charity  of  the 
■.irLrt>  of  I*aris,  and  the  possession  of  many  of  the  frightful 
>cci\l>  of  her  mother  and  of  her  terrible  father. 

Marie  Kxili  clun*;  to  I'aris.  She  grew  up  beautiful  and 
priiiliij;ale ;  she  coined  her  rare  Italian  charms,  first  into 
;ol(l  and  veKet,  then  into  silver  and  brocade,  and  at  last 
;iu<i  topper  and  rags.  When  her  charms  faded  cnlirel}-, 
N'.c  began  to  practise  the  forbidden  arts  of  her  mother  and 
iillk'i.  but  without  their  boldness  or  long  imi)unity. 

She  was  soon  suspected,  but  receiving  timely  warning 
fit  her  danger,  from  a  high  patroness  at  Court,  ^larie  fled 
:o  Now  I'Vance  in  the  disguise  of  \\  payxannc,  one  of  a  cargo 
lit  miiuarried  women  sent  out  to  the  colony  on  matrimonial 
VLiiture,  as  the  custom  then  was,  to  furnish  wi\es  for  the 
C'l'oni^ts.  Her  sole  possession  was  an  anticpie  cabinet  with 
ii>  Contents,  the  onlv  remnant  sa\ed  from  the  fortune  of  her 
i.itht.'!-.  Kxili. 

Maiie  Kxili  landed  in  New  ["'ranee,  cursing  the  Old 
Wiiiid  which  she  had  left  behind,  and  l)ringing  as  bitter  a 
iKitted  of  the  New.  which  ri'ceived  her  without  a  shadow  of 
Mi>picinn  that  under  her  modest  peasant's  garb  was  c(jn- 
'lak'il  iJie  daughter  and  iidieritrix  of  the  l)lack  arts  of 
Anioiiio    Kxili   and  of   tlu'   sorceress    Ka   V'oisin. 

Marie  Ivxili  kept  her  secret  well.  She  pla\ed  the 
'■''.'(iiii,-  to  j)erfection.  Her  straight  figure  and  black  eyes 
!iiuini,f  drawn  a  second  glance  from  the  Sieur  ("orrixeau,  a 
lich  habitan  oi  St.  Valier,  who  was  looking  for  a  servant 
'imun;j;  the  crowd  of  piixsaniics   who  had  just  arrived  from 


:->7o 


TIIK    COF.DIA     !)<)(,. 


I'VaiKc,    he    coulil    not    escape    from    the     jiowei    of    ti,.  ,r 
fiiscination. 

He  took  Marie  Kxili  home  with  him,  and  installed  hrr 
in  his  household,  where  his  wife  soon  died  of  soiiir  iiu\ 
plicahle  disease  whicli  l)atlled  the  knowled.i^e  of  IkjiH  th. 
doctor  and  the  curate,  the  two  uisisi  men  in  the  pari-;! 
The  Sieur  ("orriveau  ended  his  widowiiootl  1)\  manvin^ 
Marie  Kxili,  and  soon  died  himself,  leaving  his  whole  U<\- 
tune  and  one  daughter,  tiie  image  of  her  mother,  lo  M ni 

Marie  Kxili,  ever  in  dread  t)f  the  i)er(|ui.>>itions  of  lUsijai^ 
kept  very  (juiet  in  her  sechuU-d  home  on  the  St.  I,a\\rin(r. 
guarding  her  secret  witli  a  life-long  api)relKnsion.  and  In;! 
occasionally  and  in  the  darkest  wavs  practising  her  deadiv 
skill.  She  found  some  compensation  and  relief  for  lu  r  sti|, 
jiressed  passions  in  the  clinging  s\-m[iathy  of  her  dau^l.tei 
Marie  Josephte  (/if  La  ('orriveau.  who  wcjrshipjietl  all  ih'.i 
was  evil  in  her  mother,  and  in  spite  of  an  occasional  leliK 
taiice,  springing  from  some  maternal  instinct,  drew  fioii 


I  111- 


every  secret  of  her  life.  She  made  herself  mistress  of  ilu 
whole  formula  of  poisoning  as  taught  l>y  her  grandfnilui 
Kxili,  and  of  the  arts  of  .sorcery  practised  by  liei  uiekud 
grandmother,  La  Voisin. 

As  La  C'orriveau  listened  to  the  tale  of  the  burning  nt  hci 
grandmother  on  the  Place  de  (Ireve,  her  own  soul  Mtiimi 
bathed  in  the  (fames  which  rose  from  the  faggots,  and  wlii.h 
to  her  perverted  reason  appeared  as  the  lues  ot  (riiil 
injustice,  calling  for  revenge  upon  the  whole  race  of  tin 
oppressors  of  her  family,  as  she  regarded  the  puni>lKrs  c' 
their  crimes. 

With  .such  a  parentage,  and  such  dark  secrets  brooding'  in 
her  bosom,  Marie  Josephte,  or,  as  she  was  ccjmnionly  calk.;. 
La  Corriveau,  had  nothing  in  common  with  the  >imp'k 
peasantry  among  whom  she  lived. 

Years  passed  o\er  her,  youth  fled,  and  La  C'orri\  eau  still 
sat  in  her  house,  eating  her  heart  out,  silent  and  solitary. 
After  the  death  of  her  mother,  some  whispers  of  biddtn 
treasures  known  only  to  her.self,  a  rumor  which  >lic  ban 
cunningly  set  afloat,  excited  the  cupidity  of  Louis  I 'odici.  a 
simple  habitan  of  St.  Valier,  and  drew  him  into  a  nianiai,^- 
with  her. 

It  was  a  barren  union.     No  child   followed,  wiih  <""'' 


F.A    ((il<KI\  I.Al', 


371 


installed  hi-r 
.>f  somt'  iiu\ 
;  of  Ixitli  til.- 
n   llic    \,;u\-'. 

bv   ^lar!•\ill^ 

^  •         ■ 

lis    Wiiolc    fdl- 

iuT,  Id  Marir 

IS  of    I  >rSL:rai> 

Si.  LawniK , 
ision.  and  In,: 
iLi  her  (ItMiliy 
if  for  her  Mip 
her  (hiuud  it.'i 
ippetl  alt  il/ 
casional  leiui 
ch'ew  from  he 
iiistress  of  Uu 
•r   <i;ran(lf;Uht.T 
)V   iiei    wit-kid 

:)\iniin,U  of  her 

sold    ^'  cliu'd 

ols.  and  wlaih 

"ires    of    ci'UL'l 

e  race  of  tb.c 

l)uni>her.s  o\ 

ts  broodin,u'  in 
unionly  callc.!. 
ill   the    simple 


;;r.i(i'  in  its  little  hands,  to  create  a  mother's  feelings  .uid 
>Mfien  the  callous  heart  (»f  I, a  ( "orrivean.  She  cursed  her 
i,il  ill, it  it  was  so.  and  her  dry  bosom  became  an  arid  spot  of 
desert,  tenanted  by  sat\  rs  and  dra;:;ons.  by  every  evil  passi(jn 
,if  a  woman  withoilt  conscience  and  void  of  love. 

Hill  La  ("orriwau  had  inherited  the  sharp  intellect  and 
Italian  dissimulation  of  Antonio  Ivxili  :  she  was  astute 
ciiiiiii;h  to  throw  a  veil  of  hypocrisy  over  the  e\il  eyes 
wliidi  shot  like  a  glance  of  death  from  under  the  thi(l< 
M,i(  k  eyebrows. 

Jlii  (raft  was  e(|ual  to  her  malice.  An  oecasion.d  deed 
lit  .dins,  done  not  for  charity's  s.ike,  but  for  ostentation  ;  an 
.idroil  deal  of  cards,  or  a  horoscope  cast  to  Halter  a  foolish 
ord   of   sympathy,  hollow   as  a   water  bubble,  but 


a    w 


0)l<» 


)re(l   Willi    nidescent    prettiness,   a\erteci   .suspicion 


fr 


om 


the  darker  traits  of  her  character. 

If  >he  was  hated,  she  was  also  feared  by  her  neighbors, 
iiul  althcjui^h  the  sIljii  of  the  cro^s  was  made  upon  the  chair 
.'diereon  she  had  sat  in  a  neij;hl)oi's  house,  her  vi>its  were 
iiol  unwelcome,  and  in  the  manor-house,  as  in  the  cabin  of 
he  woodman,  I, a  Corriveau  was  received,  consulted,  re- 
warded, and  (jftener   thanked    than   curbed,   bv  her    witless 


ilupes. 


here  was  sonietnui":  suDliiiK. 


thi 


ibli 


in   the  satanic  pride  with 
diieh  she  carried   with  her  the  terril)le  secrets  of  her  race. 


iicli  in  her  own   mintl  made  her  tlie  superior  of  every  one 
(1  her,  and  whom  she  reirarded  as  li\in<i  onlv  bv  iier 


.iroun 

permission  or  forbearance. 

lor  human  lo\e  other  than  as  a  decjraded  menial,  to  make 
men  the  slaves  of  her  mercenary  schemes,  La  ("orrivean 
L.ired  nolhinL;.  She  ne\"er  felt  it,  ne\"er  inspired  it.  She 
looked  down  upon  all  her  se.x  as  the  filth  of  creation  and,  like 
l.er>elf.  incapable  of  a  chaste  feeliuL:;  or  a  pure  thought. 
F.very  better  instinct  of  her  nature  had  <j;one  out  like  the 
tlaiiie  of  a  lamp  whose  oil  is  exhausted:  love  of  money 
remained  as  die_u,"s  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart.  A  deep 
;^rud;j;e  a_L:;ainst  mankind,  and  a  secret  pleasure  in  the  mis- 
tortuncs  iii  others,  especially  of  her  own  se.v,  were  her  ruling 
passidiis. 

Her  iiiother.  Marie  Kxili,  had  died  in  her  bed.  warning  her 
'iau^iiier  not  to  dabble  in  the  forbidden  arts  which  she  had 


372 


Till",   (i(>F,i)i:\    i)()(i 


taught  her,  but  to  cHng  to  her  husband  and  Hve  an  lioiust 
life  as  the  only  means  of  dying  a  more  hopeful  death  than 
her  ancestors. 

La  Corriveau  heard  much,  but  heeded  little.  The  blood 
of  Antonio  K.xili  and  of  La  N'oisin  beat  too  \ig()rousl\'  in  her 
veins  to  be  tamed  down  by  the  feeble  whispers  of  a  (Iviii:; 
woman  who  had  been  weak  enough  to  give  way  at  last.  Tlif 
death  of  her  mother  left  La  ("orri\eau  free  to  follow  Ikt  own 
will.  The  Italian  subtlety  of  her  race  made  her  secret  and 
cautious.  She  had  few  personal  altronts  to  a\enge.  and  tew 
temptations  in  the  simple  community  where  she  lived  lo 
practise  more  than  the  ordinary  arts  of  a  rural  fdiiuni 
teller,  keeping  in  impenetrable  shadow  the  darker  side  of 
her  character  as  a  born  sorceress  and  poisoner. 

1^'anchon  Dodier,  in  obedience  to  the  order  of  her  Iv,ist^e.^,^. 
started  early  in  the  day  to  bear  the  message  entrusted  to  her 
for  La  Corriveau.  She  did  not  cross  the  river  and  take  the 
king's  highway,  the  rough  though  well-travelled  road  on  dir 
south  shore  which  led  to  St.  Valier.  Angeli(|ue  was  crafiv 
enough  amid  her  impulsiveness  to  see  that  it  were  better  for 
l'"anchon  to  go  down  by  water  and  return  by  land  :  it  lesseiu'd 
observation,  and  might  be  important  one  day  to  baftle  in(|inr\. 
La  Corriveau  would  serve  her  for  money,  but  for  nionev  aNo 
she  might  betray  her.  Angelicjue  resohed  to  secure  her 
silence  by  making  her  the  perpetrator  of  whatever  s'(~henie 
of  wickedness  she  might  devise  against  the  unsuspeetiiiu 
lady  of  Heaumanoir.  As  for  l-'anchon,  she  need  know 
nothing  more  than  Angelique  told  her  as  to  the  object  ol 
her  mission  to  her  terrible  aunt. 

In  pursuance  of  this  design,  Angelique  had  already  sen; 
for  a  couj^le  of  Indian  canoemen  to  embark  l-'anchou  at  the 
quay  of  the  JM'iponne  and  convey  her  to  St.  Valier. 

Half-ci\ilized  and  wholh'-demoralized  red  men  were  always 
to  be  found  on  the  beach  of  Stadacona,  as  they  still  called 
the  jjalture  of  the  St.  Charles,  lounging  about  in  blankets, 
smoking,  jilaying  dice,  or  drinking  ])ints  or  (piaits,  ib 
fortune  faxored  them,  or  a  jiassenger  wanted  con\eyan("  in 
their  bark  canoes,  which  they  numaged  with  a  dexterity 
unsurpassed  l)y  any  boatman  that  ever  put  oar  (;r  paddle 
in  water,  salt  or  fresh. 

These  rough  fellows  were   safe   and  trusty  in  their  pro- 


LA    COKKIVEAU. 


373 


ty   in   tlu'ir  pro- 


fessiuii.  P'anchon  knew  them  sli>i;luly,  and  felt  no  fenr 
whatever  in  seating  herself  upon  the  bear  skin  which  car- 
peted the  bottom  of  their  canoe. 

Hicy  pushed  oil  at  once  from  the  shore,  with  scarcely  a 
wurtl  of  reply  to  her  voluble  directions  and  i^esticulations  as 
ihcv  went  speeding  their  caiUK'  down  the  stream.  The 
fiiiiiiiig  tide  bore  them  lightly  on  its  bosom,  and  they 
diaiUetl  a  wild,  monotonous  refrain  as  their  paddles  flashed 
and  dipped  alternately  in  stream  and  sunshine ; 

"Alii   all!   'rLii:u)uich  teiiatfa! 
'renaouirh  tciiaga,  oiiich  ka  !  " 

"They  are  singing  about  nu-.  no  doubt."  said  Fanchon  to 
herself.  "  1  do  not  care  what  people  say,  they  cannot  be 
(  hri^.lians  who  speak  such  a  heathenish  jargon  as  that:  it  is 
enough  to  sink  the  canoe ;  Init  1  will  repeat  my  paternosters 
and  inv  Ave  Marias,  seeing  thev  will  not  conxerse  with  me, 
and  1  will  pray  good  St.  Anne  to  gi\e  me  a  safe  passage  to 
Si.  \'alier."  In  which  pious  occupation,  as  the  boatmen 
(■(inlinued  their  savage  song  without  |)a}ing  her  any  atten- 
tion. l''anch()n,  with  many  interruptions  of  worldly  thoughts, 
hl)enl  the  rest  of  the  time  she  was  in  the  hulian  canoe. 

Down  past  the  green  hills  of  the  south  shore  the  boatmen 
steadily  plied  their  paddles,  and  kept  singing  their  wild 
Indian  chant.  The  wooded  slopes  of  Orleans  basked  in  sun- 
Miine  as  they  o\'erlooked  the  broad  channel  through  whii  h 
ihe  canoe  sped,  and  long  before  meridian  the  little  bark 
was  turned  in  to  shore  and  pulled  up  on  the  beach  of  St. 
Valier. 

laiichon  leaped  out  without  assistance,  wetting  a  foot  in 
-"(loing,  which  somewhat  discom|)osi'd  the  good  humor  she 
had  shown  during  the  voyage.  Iler  Indian  boatmen  offered 
lier  iio  help,  considering  that  women  were  made  to  serxe 
men  and  help  themselves,  and  not  to  be  waited  upon  b\' 
them. 

"  Not  that  1  wanted  to  touch  one  of  their  savage  hands,'' 
iiinltered  l''anchon,  "but  they  might  have  offered  one  assist- 
ance !  Look  there,"  continued  she,  pulling  aside  hei"  skirt 
and  showing  a  very  trim  foot  wet  up  to  the  aid<le  ;  "  the\' 
on';}n  to  know  the  difference  betwi'cn  their  red  scjuaws  and 
the  while  girls  of  the  city.      If  they  are  not  wo'th  politeness, 


3/4 


Till':   (ioi.i)i;\    !)()(;. 


7t'^  are.  Ihit  Indians  are  only  fil  lo  kill  Chrislinns  or  h^ 
killed  l)y  them  ;  and  you  mi<2;lU  as  well  courtesy  to  a  hear  in 
the  l)riers  as  to  an  Indian  anywhere." 

'I'iie  boatmen  looked  at  her  foot  with  supreme  inditierfncc. 
and  taking  out  their  ])ipes,  seated  themselves  on  the  edge  of 
their  canoe,  and  began  to  smoke. 

"  V'ou  may  return  to  the  city,"  said  she,  addressini;  iIkih 
sharply;  "  I  pray  to  the  lu>ii  Diiii  to  strike  you  wiiiit';  ii  i> 
\ain  to  look  for  manners  from  an  Indian  !  I  shall  remain  in 
St.  \'alier,  and  nc^t  return  with  you." 

''Marry  me,  be  my  squaw,  Ania  ? "  replied  oiu-  of  the 
boatmen,  witii  a  a;rim  smile;  "the  hoii  nicii  will  strike  out 
papooses  wiiite,  and  teach  them  manners  like  palefaces." 

"  L'gh  !  not  for  all  the  King's  money.  What  I  nuur\  a  inl 
Indian,  and  carry  his  pack  like  JMtlne  I'erotte  .^  1  would  die 
first  !  You  are  bold  indeed,  Taul  La  Crosse,  to  uiLiitii  ii 
such  a  thing  to  me.  (lo  back  to  the  citv  I  1  would  not  wwa 
myself  again  in  your  canoe.  It  required  courage  to  do  so  at 
all,  but  Mademoiselle  selected  you  for  my  boatmen,  not  1, 
I  wonder  she  did  so,  when  the  brothers  Hallou,  and  the  pret- 
tiest fellows  in  town,  were  idle  on  the  I>atture." 

"Ania  is  niece  to  the  old  medicine-woman  in  the  stciu' 
wigwam  at  St.  Valier;  going  to  see  her,  eh?"  aNkrd  the 
other  boatman,  with  a  slight  display  of  curiosity. 

"Yes,  I  am  going  to  \isit  my  aunt  Dodier;  why  should  1 
not  .''  She  has  crocks  of  gold  buried  in  the  house,  1  can  it'll 
you  that,  Pierre  Ceinture  !  " 

"  CJoing  to  get  some  from  T.a  Corriveau,  eh?  crocks  of 
gold,  eh?"  said  Paul  l.a  ("rosse. 

"  La  C'orri\eau  has  medicines,  too!  get  some,  eh  ? ""  asked 
Pierre  Ceinture. 

"  I  am  going  neither  for  gold  nor  medicines,  but  in  see  my 
aunt,  if  it  concerns  you  lo  know,  Pierre  Ceinture  !  wliiili  ii 
tloes  not  !  " 

"Mademoiselle  des  Meloises  pay  her  to  go,  eh  ?  imt  'j,(iini: 
back  ever,  eh  ?"  asked  the  other  Indian. 

"Mind  your  own  aiVairs,  Paul  La  Crosse,  and  I  will  niiiul 
mine!  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises  paid  you  lo  brinu'  iiu' li' 
St.  Valier,  not  to  ask  me  impertinences.  That  is  enough  tor 
you  !"  Here  is  your  fare:  now  jou  can  re'lurn  to  lln'  Saiilt 
au  Matelot,  and  drink  }'oursel\es  blind  with  the  mone\  1 " 


LA    COKRIVEAU. 


375 


;h  ?  crocks  of 


"Very  good,  that  !  "  reiilied  the  Indian.  "  I  like  to  drink 
mvself  blind,  will  do  it  to-night!  I-ikc  to  see  me,  eh?" 
Detter  that  than  go  see  La  ("orriveau  !  'i'he  hahitans  say 
she  talks  with  the  Devil,  and  makes  the  sickness  settle  like  a 
io'r  upon  the  wigwams  of  the  red  men.  'I'hey  say  she  can 
;nakc  palefaces  die  by  looking  at  them  !  lUit  Indians  are 
loo  hard  to  kill  w  ith  a  look !  I-'ire-water  and  gun  and 
tiiiiuihawk,  and  fever  in  the  wigwams,  only  make  the  Indians 

die. 

'•("i()(k1  that  something  can  make  you  die,  for  your  ill 
nianutrs !  look  at  my  stocking !  "  replied  I'anchon,  with 
waniitli.  "  If  I  tell  La  ("orriveau  what  you  say  of  her  there 
will  1)1'  trouble  in  your  wigwam,  I'ierre  Ceinture  !  " 

•'Do  not  do  that,  Ania!"  replied  the  Indian,  crossing 
himself  earnestly  ;"  do  not  tell  La  ('orri\eau,  or  she  will 
m;ike  an  image  of  wa.\  and  call  it  Pierre  ( "einture,  and  she 
'AJll  iii'-'lt  it  away  before  a  slow  tire,  and  as  it  melts  my  flesh 
and  bones  will  melt  awny,  too!      Do  not  tell  her,  Fanchon 


.(11 


I  " 


The  Indian  had  picked  u|3  this  piece  of  super- 
>tili()n  from  the  white  habitans,  and,  like  them,  thoroughly 
iiclieveil  in  the  supernatural  powers  of  La  (.'orriveau. " 

"  Well,  leave  me  !  get  back  to  the  city,  and  tell  Madem- 
oiselle I  arrived  safe  at  St.  Valier,"  replied  Fanchon, 
■aiming  to  leave  them. 

The  Indians  were  somewhat  taken  down  by  the  airs  of 
Fanchon,  and  they  stood  in  awe  of  the  far-reaching  power 
of  her  aunt,  from  the  spell  of  whose  witchcraft  they  firmly 
iielieved  no  hiding-place,  even  in  the  deepest  woods,  could 
protect  them.  Merely  nodding  a  farewell  to  Fanchon,  the 
Indians  silently  pushed  their  canoe  into  the  stream,  and, 
iniharking.  returned  to  the  city  by  the  way  they  came. 

A  line  bree/y  upland  lay  before  l'"anchon  Dodier.  Cul- 
livaU'd  llelds  of  corn,  and  meadows  ran  down  to  the  shore. 
A  low  of  white  cottages,  forming  a  loosely  connected  street, 
clustered  into  something  like  a  village  at  the  point  where 
till'  parish  church  stood,  at  the  intersection  of  two  or  three 
roads,  one  of  which,  a  narrow  green  track,  but  little  worn  by 
the  earls  of  the  habitans,  letl  to  the  stone  house  of  La  ( "or- 
nvean.  the  chimney  of  which  was  just  visible  as  you  lost 
^i^lu  of  the  \illage  spire. 

in   a   deep    hollow,    out    of   sight   of    the    village    church, 


37^ 


THE    GOIJ)i:X     IXXi. 


almost  out  of   hcarin'r  of  its  little  I)l'1I,  stood   ilu-   1 


The   pine  forest  touchetl   it    on    one    side,   a 


iiK(jnvt-n- 

n•itiIl^ 
awl- 


La  ( ,'oriiveiiu,  a  s(|uare,  heavy  strueturc  of   stone, 
ient   and  gloomy,   with   narrow   windows   and    an    unii 
door. 

ing  stream  twisted  itself  like  .i  li\e  snake  half  Kmn 
on  the  other.  A  plot  of  green  grass,  ill  kept  and  (lcf( Mined 
with  n(Jxious  weeds,  d(jck,  fennel,  thistle,  and  foul  >iiaiiu 
nium,  was  surrounded  by  a  rough  wall  of  loose  Mono 
forming  the  lawn,  such  as  it  was,  wher 


u  It 


e.  under  a  tn-c 


•^L•all.(i 


m'aii  armchair,  was   a   soliiarv  woman,  whom 


!• 


iUnlion  ii'i 


ognized  as   her  aunt,  Marie   josephte   Dcxlier,  suinaniLcJ  1. 
Corriveau. 

La  Corrixeau,  in  feature  and  person,  took  after  h 


ier  Lrraiul- 


sire  Kxili.      She  was  tall  and  straight,  of  a  swarthy  conii 


)k-\- 


)V  a.s.Mi 


n    an -el 


darkness. 

La  Corriveau  was  dressed  in  a  robe  of  soft  brown  stuli. 
shaped  with  a  degree  of  taste  and  style  beyond  the  gnh  ot 
her  class.  Neatness  in  dress  was  the  one  virtue  she  hiui 
inherited  from  her  mother.  Her  feet  were  small  antl  well 
shod,  like  a  lady's,  as  the  enxious  neighbors  used  to  say 
She  never  in  her  life  would  wear  the  sabots  of  the  pcasan. 
women,  nor  go  barefoot,  as  many  of  them  did,  about  llic 
house.  La  Corriveau  was  vain  of  her  feet,  whicii  wouki 
ha\e  made  her  fortune,  as  she  thought  with  bitterness.  an\ 
where  Init  in  St.  Valier. 

She  sat  musing  in  her  chair,  not  nf)ticing  the  j-iresence  d; 
her  niece,  who  stood  for  a  moment  looking  and  hesilalim; 
before  accostinir  her.      Her  countenance  bore,  when  she  \v,i> 


alone,    an    expression    of    malignity    whi 
shudder.      A    cpiicl 


(  h    made 


unconscious    twitelung  o 


f  Ihi 


anchi'ii 
liniivt^ 


acc()m[)anied    her    thoughts,    as    if   this    weird    woman    w.i^ 
playing  a  game   of  mora   with  the  evil  genius  that   waitui 


iiii,'  of  his 
,u  mora  \ 
believed. 

The  lip 
•Jiou;^hts. 
leiiipi  t(jr 
.uiilibk-  \-u 
lean  Le  A 


ion,   l)lack-haired,    and   intenselv   l)lack-e\ed.       She    was  no' 
uncomely  of  feature,  nay,  had  been  handsome,  nor  was  Iw: 
look  at  first  sight  forbidding,  especially  if  she  did  not  turn   |  | 
upon  you  those  small   basilisk  e\es  of  hers,  full  of  tue  and 
glare  as  the  eyes  of    a  rattlesnake.      Hut   truly   iho.se  thin. 
cruel  lips  of  hers  never  smiled  spontaneously,  ov  aliVcled  ti 
smile  upon  you  unless  she  had  an  object  to  gain  1 
ing  a    disguise   as    foreign   to   her  as  light  to  a 


on 


her.      Her  <rrandsire  h'.xili  had  the  same  nervous  twitch- 


••It  is  n 
chon,  com 
.Mve  a  St  a: 
"It  is  not 
•llul  it 
ere  is  n 
illdl  I  W'c 
>iic.  scnitii 
M'eincd  to 
)r  Satan's 
KukIkjii  .'' 

••Xoill 
:iy  comma: 
>he  is  biti 
Mjiiic  bus  ill 

•'And  w 
'.0  ;;o  to  th 

"  Do  no 
■ll  was   I 
ii'lch  you. 
Nil!  hii;-her 

••  .Madeii 

(-•IlDUiill    of 

■U  last  I  . 
tile  men  in 
liave  her  u 
«aiii  with 
"She  (11 
>udi  thing 
'^dl  niv  err; 


LA    CORRIVEAU. 


177 


I  brown  stuti. 
ul  the  i;ai"b  ot 
rtuc  slu"  haii 
nail  and  wi'll 

used  to  Miy 
)f  the  peasaii 
id,  ahout  lli>' 

which  wouu. 
itterness.  any 

le  jMTsencc  d! 
\nd  hesitatim; 
when  she  \va> 
ade  l^nuiii'ii 
of  the  liiii^vi- 
woman  wa- 
s  that  wailul 
crvons  twitch- 


mi;  of  iiis  fingers,  and  the  vulgar  accused  him  of  playing 
jt  mora  with  the  Devil,  who  ever  accompanied  him,  they 
believed. 

Ihe  lips  of  La  C'orriveau  moved  in  unison  with  her 
;houLihts.  She  was  giving  expression  to  her  habitual  con- 
•diipi  tor  her  sex  as  she  crooned  over,  in  a  sufficiently 
.uiilihle  voice  to  reach  the  ear  of  I-'anchon,  a  hateful  song  of 
jean  Le  Meung  on  women  : 

"  '  Touttjs  vous  ctes,  serez  ou  futes, 
De  fait  uu  de  volonte  putes  !  '  " 

•It  is  not  nice  to  say  that.  Aunt  Marie  !  "  exclaimed  Fan- 
chon.  ct^ming  forward  and  embrac  ing  La  ( "(jrriveau,  who 
.Mvc  a  start  on  seeing  her  niece  so  unexpectedly  before  her. 
■It  is  not  nice,  and  it  is  not  true  !  " 

••  llui  it  is  true,  Fanchon  Dodier  !  if  it  be  not  nice. 
riiLTc  is  nothing  nice  to  be  said  of  our  sex,  except  by  foolish 
men !  Women  know  one  another  better  !  But,"  continued 
jiic.  scrutinizing  her  niece  with  her  keen  black  eyes,  which 
M'emed  to  pierce  her  through  and  through,  "  what  ill  wind 
ir  Satan's  errand  has  brought  you  to  St.  Valier  to-day, 
KmclK^n  ?  " 

"  No  ill  wind,  nor  ill  errand  either,  I  hope,  aunt.  I  come 
:a  command  of  my  mistress  to  ask  you  to  go  to  the  city  : 
>he  is  biting  her  nails  off  with  impatience  to  see  you  on 
Mjmc  business. 

"And  who  is  your  mistress,  who  dares  to  ask  La  Corriveau 
lu  '40  to  the  city  at  her  bidding  ?  " 

•Do  not  be   angry,  aunt,"   replied    Fanchon,  soothingly. 

h  was  I  counselled  her  to  send  for  you,  and  I  offered  to 
idcli  \()u.  IMy  mistress  is  a  high  lady,  who  expects  to  be 
-.ill  higher,    -  i\L\demoiselle  des  Meloises  !  " 

"Mademoiselle  Ange'lique  des  Mtdoises, -- one  hears 
cnoui;li  of  her  !  a  high  lady  indeed  !  who  will  be  low  enough 
-ulast  '.  A  minx  as  vain  as  she  is  pretty,  who  would  niarr\'  all 
liic  nicn  in  New  l-'rance,  and  kill  .dl  the  women,  if  she  could 
line  her  way  !  What  in  the  name  of  the  Sabbat  does  she 
v.uu  with  La  Corriveau  ?  " 

"She  did  not  call  you  names,  aunt,  and  please  do  not  say 
^udi  things  of  her,  foi'  you  will  frighten  me  away  before  1 
it'll  niy  errand.      ALulemoiselle  Angeliciue  sent  this  niece  of 


37« 


TlIK    (iOLDKN     DOG. 


<;old  as  earnest-money  to  prove  that  she  wants  your  ('(niii.>5t! 
and  advice  in  an  important  matter." 

Fanclion  untied  the  corner  of  her  handkerchief,  and  took 
from  it  a  broad  shininij;  loiiis  iTor.  She  phrced  ii  in  iji^^. 
hand  of  La  C'orriveau,  whose  loni;  fingers  clutched  it  like 
the  talons  of  a  harpy.  ( )f  all  tlie  evil  passions  ot  iiii>, 
woman,  the  greed  for  money  was  the  most  ravenous. 

"  It  is  long  since  I  got  a  piece  of  gold  like  that  to  cro>s 
my  hand  with,  l-'anchon  !  "  said  she,  looking  at  it  adiniiiii^^h- 
and  spitting  on  it  for  good  luck, 

"  There  are  i)lenty  more  where  it  came  from,  aunt." 
replied  I'anchon.  "  ^lademoiselle  could  fill  your  ajjron  with 
gokl  every  day  <^f  the  week  if  she  would  :  she  is  to  iiiaiiv 
the  Intendant  !  " 

"  Marry  the  Intendant  !  ah,  indeed  !  that  is  whv  she  sencU 
for  me  .so  urgently!  I  see!  Marry  the  Intendant  I  .Slic 
will  bestow  a  pot  of  gold  on  La  Corriveau  to  acc()inpli>h 
that  match  ! "' 

"  Maybe  she  would,  aunt  ;  I  would,  myself.  l)Ut  it  is  not 
that  she  wishes  to  consult  you  about  just  now.  She  lost  her 
jewels  at  the  ball,  and  wants  your  help  to  find  them." 

"  Lost  her  jewels,  eh  ?  I  )itl  she  say  you  were  to  tell  nic 
that  she  had  l(;st  her  jewels,  I^'anchon  .-^ " 

"  Ves,  aunt,  that  is  what  she  wants  to  consult  you  about." 
replied  l'"anchon,  with  simplicity.  Hut  the  keen  pt'rir])tion 
of  I%a  Corriveau  saw  that  a  second  purpose  lay  behind  it. 

"  A  likely  tale  ! ''  nuittered  she,  "  that  so  rich  a  lady 
would  send  for  La  Corriveau  from  St.  Valier  to  (Ind  a  few 
jewels  !  lUit  it  will  do.  I  will  go  with  you  to  the  city ;  I 
cannot  refuse  an  invitation  like  that.  Cold  fetchrs  any 
woman,  I^'anchon.  It  fetches  me  always.  It  will  fctili  you, 
too.  some  day,  if  you  are  lucky  enough  to  gi\e  it  tlie 
chance." 

"  I  wish  it  would  fetch  me  now,  aunt;  but  poor  girls  who 
live  by  .service  and  wages  have  small  chance  to  be  sont  tor 
in  that  way  !  We  are  glad  to  get  the  empty  hand  wiihout 
the  money.  Men  are  so  scarce  with  this  cruel  war,  that  they 
might  easily  have  a  wife  to  each  finger,  were  it  allowed 
by  the  law.  I  heard  Dame  Tremblay  say  and  I  thought 
her  very  right  the  Church  does  not  half  consider  our  cuii 
dition  and  necessities." 


r.A    COKRIVKAU. 


379 


s  your  couiisL-l 


|)ame  Treniblay  !  the  ( "harmin^j;  Jo.sei)hine  of  Lake  l>eau- 
iMt!  She  who  woukl  have  been  a  vvilch,  and  could  not: 
Nitan  would  not  have  her  I  "  exclaimed  La  C'orriveau. 
scumfully.  "  Is  she  still  housekeepei  and  bedmaker  at 
IJeauinaiioir  ?  " 

i.mchon  was  honest  enough  to  feel  rather  indignant  at 
tlib  speech.  "  Don't  speak  so  of  her,  aunt ;  slie  is  not  bad. 
A!thoiii;li  I  ran  away  from  lier,  and  took  ser\ice  with 
M.idcinoiselle  des  Meloises,  I  will  n(jt  speak  ill  of  her." 

•Why  (lid  you  run  away  from  Deaumanoir  .^  "  asked  La 
Currivcau. 

laiichon  rellected  a  moment  upon  the  mystery  of  the 
iadv  of  lleaumanoir,  and  something  checked  her  tongue, 
j>  if  it  were  not  safe  to  tell  all  she  knew  to  her  aunt,  who 
uiiild.  niorecn'er,  be  sure  to  find  out  from  Angc'lique  herself 
a?  much  as  her  mistress  wished  her  to  know. 

"1  (lid  not  like  Dame  Tremblay,  aunt,''  replied  she;  I 
prd'circd  to  li\'e  with  Mademoiselle  Angelique.  She  is  a 
i.i(ly.  a  beauty,  who  dresses  to  surpass  any  picture  in  tiie 
iiouk  (jf  modes  from  Paris,  which  I  often  looked  at  on  her 
':ic><Mi\L;-lable.  She  allowed  me  to  imitate  them,  or  wear  her 
uWoff  dresses,  which  were  l)etter  than  any  other  ladies'  new 
incs.  1  have  one  of  them  on.  Locjk,  aunt  !  "  hanchon 
'read  out  very  complacently  the  skirt  of  a  pretty  blue  robe 
siic  wore. 

l„i  ( orriveau  nodded  her  head  in  a  sort  of  silent  approval, 
and  remarked,  '"She  is  free-handed  enough!  She  gives 
«luu  costs  her  nothing,  and  takes  all  she  can  get,  and  is.  after 
a!!.  ,1  trollop,  like  the  rest  of  us.  I'anchon,  wIk^  would  be  very 
p)ud  if  there  were  neither  men  nor  money  nor  fme  ck)thes  in 
lilt  world,  to  tempt  jioor  silly  women." 

"\oii  do  sav  such  naslv  thinus,  aunt!"  exclaimed  l''an- 
tiioii.  flashing  with  indignation.  "  I  will  hear  no  more  !  1  am 
.111;;  iiUo  the  house  to  see  dear  old  rncle  Dodier,  who  has 
'tell  lodking  through  the  window  at  me  for  ten  minute.^  p;'st. 
"iiil  (laretl  not  come  out  to  sjieak  to  me.  \'()u  are  too  hard 
«"  po(ir  olil  I'ncle  Dodier,  aunt,"  said  I'anchon.  boldly. 
"li  you  cannot  be  kind  to  him.  why  did  you  marry  him  ?" 

"\\hy.  1  wanted  a  husbaiul,  and  he  wanted  my  nioney, 
''■''il  was  all  ;  and  1  got  my  bargaSii.  and  his  loo,  Fanchon  !" 
■liid  tlir  woman  laughed  savagely. 


3^o 


TUK    (.OLDF.X    DOG. 


"  I  thouglu  puople  married  to  be  happy,  aunt."  tcnHplJ 
the  girl,  persistently. 

"Happy!  such  folly.  Satan  yokes  people  t(rj,vthLr  !■ 
bring  more  sinners  into  the  world,  and  supply  fre.^h  luci  i  i 
his  fires.'' 

•'  My  mistress   thinks  there  is  no   happiness  likt,'  a  'j^ir< 
match."  remarked   Fanchon  ;  "and   I  think  so,  too,  amn.    [I 
shall  never  wait  the  second  time  of   asking,   I   asMiic  voj 
aunt." 

"  Vou  are  a  fool,  Fanchon,"  said  La  (Jorriveau ;  -  hui  viurl 
mistress  deserves  to  wear  the  ring  of  Cleopatra,  and  Id  1il-| 
come  the  mother  of  witches  and  harlots  for  all  time  Whvl 
did  she  really  send  for  me  ?" 

The  girl  crossed  herself,  and  exclaimed,  "(Icjd  forbid,| 
aunt !  my  mistress  is  not  like  that !  " 

La   Corriveau   spat  at  the   mention  of  the   sacred  nanicl 
"  r>ut   it  is  in   her,  l''anchon.      It  is  in  all  of  us!     if  she 
not  so  already,  she  will  be.      15ut  go  into  the  house  ami  m 
your  foolish  uncle,  while  1  g(j  prepare  for  my  visit.     Wc  will] 
set  out  at  once,  l''anchon,  for  business  like  that  of  .\ngL'liqi 
des  Meloises  cannot  wait." 


hi'iw'd  ner) 


',  aunt."  ivp!i,,l| 


CHAPTKR    XXXIV. 


WEIRD    SISTERS. 


I,    "(iod    forbidJ 


FWN'CHON    walked    into    the    house    to    see   her   uncle 
Dodier.     When  she  was  <^one.  the  countenance  of  La 

lidrrivrau  put  on  a  dark  and  terrible  expression.      Her  black 
evislo'ikcd  downwards,  seeming  to  penetrate  the  very  earth, 

I  and  to  reHect  in  their  glittering  orbits  the  fires  of  the  under- 
ivnrld. 
She  stood  for  a  few  moments,  buried  in  deep  thought,  with 

I  her  arms   tightly   folded    across    her   breast.       Her   fingers 

ini'ivid  nervously,  as  they  kept  time  with  the  quick*  motions 
!  her  foot,  which  beat  the  ground. 
"It  is  for  death,  and   no  lost  jewels,  that  girl  sends  for 

ink!"  muttered  La  Corriveau  through  her  teeth,  which 
:>ohc(l  white  and  cruel  between  her  thin  lips.  "  She  has  a 
ival  in  her  love  for  the  Intendant,  and  she  will  lovingly,  by 

|myholp.  feed  her  with  the  manna  of  St.  Nicholas!  Ange- 
iiqiie  des   Meloises   has    boldness,   craft,  and  falseness   for 

I  twenty  women,  and  can  keep  secrets  like  a  nun.      She  "'  "'"ch 

{.'.ndamhitious,  and  would  poison  half  the  world  rathei  .an 
r:M>  the  thing  she  sets  her  mind  on.  She  is  a  girl  after  my 
'Wii  heart,  and  worth  the  risk  I  run  with  her.  Her  riches 
"add  1)0  endless  should  she  succeed  in  her  designs :  and 
Mill  her  in  my  power,  nothing  she  has  would  henceforth  be 
!iero\vn.  but  mine  !  mine!  Desides,"  added  La  Corriveau, 
ill  thoughts  Hashing  back  to  the  fate  which  had  overtaken 
•  ci  progenitors,  Kxili  and  La  Voisin,  "  I  may  need  help 
niyself.  some  day,  to  plead  with  the  Intendant  on  my  own 
wuum.  —  who  knows  ?  " 
A  strange  thrill  ran   through  the  \eins  of   La  ('orri\'eau. 

pit  she  instantly  threw  it  off.     "I  know  what  she  wants," 

I 'Killed  she.  "  I  will  take  it  with  me.  1  am  safe  in  trusting 
tier  with  the  secret  of   lieatrice  Spara.     That  girl  is  worthy 

I'jfit  as  ISrinvilliers  herself." 

38' 


382 


IIII.    (.III. 1)1. X     I)(»fi. 


I.a  Corriveau  entered  her  own  apartment.  She  locktxl  mci 
('oor  behind  her,  drew  a  bunch  of  ke\  s  from  lier  l)(>snni,  ami 
turned  towards  a  cabinet  of  .sini^ular  sha[)e  and  Italian  wnrk-l 
man.sliip  which  .stood  in  a  corner  of  the  apartment.  It  wasl 
an  antic|ue  piece  of  furniture,  made  of  .some  daik  criemdll 
wood,  carved  o\er  \. iih  fanta.stic  li^ures  from  K-tniM an  de- 
signs by  the  cunnini;  hand  of  an  old  Italian  workin  ui.  \vl,i)i 
knew  well  how  to  make  secret  drawers  and  invisible  CMiiccai-j 
inents  for  tliinj^s  dani^erous  and  foibidden. 

It  had  once  belonged  to  .\ntonio  Ivxili.  who  h.ul  (  au><.:(l  ;i| 
lo  be  made,  ostensibly  for  the  safe-keejjinj;;  of  hi>  (  aliali>tic| 
formulas  and  alchemic  prej)aralions,  when  searchiiiL;  tor  tiij 
philosopher's  stone  and  the  eli.xir  (jf  life.  reall\-  for  the  coincil 
ment  of  the  subtle  dru^s  out  of  w  hich  his  alembics  dislijlt'd  tl 
ni/i(,i  tofiViii  and  his  crucil)les  piepared  the/^v/^Z/vw/r  w/rfV.ov,;/.! 

In  the  most  secret   place  of  all  were  deposited,  iradvt 
use,   a  few  vials  of  the  crystal    litpiid,  every  single  (Iro])  i. 
which  cr^itained  the  life  of  a  man,  and  which,  admini^ttivdi 
in  due  propoition  of  time   and  measure,  killed   and  k-ft  w. 
si^n,  numbering  its  xicti:'.!':;  da\s.  Iir-urs,  and  minuli'.s.  c.\acii\J 
according;  to  tlie  will  and  malignity  of  his  destro}-er. 

La  C"orri\eau  took  out  the  \'ials.  and  placc;d  them  (  antuiA'j 
in  a  casket  of  ebony  not  lar<jjer  than  a  woman's  hand.     In 
was  a  number  of  small    flaskets,  each   filled  with  pilLs  like 
<j;rains  of  mustard-seed,  the  essence  and  ([uintessencc  (»f  v.h 
rious  poisons,  that  put  on  the  appearance  of  natural  disLa^o,! 
and  which,  mi.xed  in  due  proportion  with  the  (Ujiiii  A'/;//w| 
covered  the  ^oulest  murders  with  the  lawful  ensij^ns  (»f 
angel  of  death. 

In  that  l)0.\  of  ebony  was  the  sublimated  dust  of  (loadi\| 
nightshade,  which  kindles  the  red  tires  of  fever  ant!  nit.s  tli 
roots  of  the  tongue.     There  was  the  fetid  powder  nt  >uaiii(c 
nium.  that  grips  the  lungs  like  an  asthma:  and  (luinia.  tiial| 
shakes  its  victims  like  the  cold  hand  of  the  miasma  nl  the 
I'oniine  marshes.      The  essence  of  poppies,  ten  linu'>  miIlI'J    I 
mated,  a  few  grains  of  which   bring  on  the   stupor  of  ap"- 
ple.vy  :  and  the  sardonic  plant,  that  kills  its  victim  wIiIuIh 
frightful  laughter  of  madness  on  his  countenance. 

The  knowledge  of  lhe.se  and  many  more  cur.scil  lit-fM 
once  known  to  Medea  in  the  ("olchian  land,  and  tran>p!iiiiid 
to  Greece  and  Rome  with  the  enchantments  of  their  use.  h>i 


ten  handec 
I  i\\  down  tc 

;„'  possess! 

;i>  I'trc  of  1 
i  Iff  ore    cl 

Mie  secret 

,  if  uncert; 
bi;,irp  and  c 


h!Iv  with    Ik 
lD:.icod  it   UI 

:cred  she,   " 
Iwork  on   an 

•Ncilian  bra\ 

rjk'  poisone( 

La  ('orri\ 

hij;ht  and   p 

;,;:ly  in   her 
lialked  out 

Her  look  int 

There  was  tl 
[.ind  risk,  aiu 

ipon  one  wl 

lie  ijreat  dai 

h'lisoned  du 

I  Louis  XIV. 

She  was  n 

The  good 

lit  was  a  su 

|aran«:;enient 

the  hickory. 

ne>>sed,  sleel 

the  goodinar 

th^'  pony,  in 

the  affection 

;i  ('urri\( 

tier  years,  se; 

:ivinj;  her  wi 

'i''t  for  need, 

:i!ey  set  off  ; 

t^'C  turn  of  tl 

'^ifbec. 


WKiKi)  .sisti:ks. 


.^i^:. 


She  t()cki;cl  ihol 
cr  bosdiii.  amlj 
1  Italian  wnik-l 
nicnl.  It  wasl 
dark  (iiicnuill 
I  l^l^ll^(.an  dc-' 
workman.  wIdI 
"isibto  oncci 

IkuI  (  auMjd  ;tj 
f   his  cahali^ticl 
architii;  tnr  tliel 
tOr  the  cunt cii- 
ics  (hsliiled 

sited,  ix'ady  fu 
sin^Ljle  (hop  cfl 
li,  a(huinisleri.'(l| 
L^d  and  left  iii)| 
nimilrs,  (.•.\a(  'Jvl 
trove  I. 

them  rarrtui;\1 
's  haiul.     In 

with   pills  like 
tessence  oi  va-1 

Uiiral  dist.a>LNJ 
le  <r<//nt  /''/■/'.'I 

ensii^ns  of  li 

dust    of   (lf,Kli\'| 

er  anil  rols  tli 
wder  i»f  sirainiv 
nd  (lumia,  t'n.! 
miasma  nl  ihe 
en  timi'>  >ubi'.] 
stupor  of  ap' 
vietim  with  li.e 
nee. 

curM'il   iu'ili^J 
nd  tran>p!aiik'( 
f  their  use.  had 


I  Ken  handed,  by  a  l(;n^  succession  of  sorcerers  anil  poi.son 
efN  down  to  Hxili  and  J>eatrice  Spara,  until  they  came  into 
-..possession  of   La  ("orriveau,  the  lei^iliniate  inheritrix   of 

l::;i>  lure  of  hell. 

ilefore  closini;  the  cabinet,  La  (orriveau  opened  one 
;;iire  secret  drawer,  and  took  out,  with  a  hesitating;  hand, 
.>  if  uncertain  whether  to  do  so  or  no,  a  glitterinjjj  stiletto, 
>;.arp  and  cruel  to  see.  She  felt  the  point  of  it  mechanic- 
i'.v  with  her  tluunh ;  and,  as  if  fascinated  by  the  touch, 
piaced  it   under  her  robe.      "  I    may   lia\e   need  of  it,"  mut- 

hered  she,   "either  to    save    nuself  /'r  to   make  sure  of  my 

I  work  on  another.  IJeatrice  Spara  was  the  dau^i!;hter  of  a 
•Ncilian  bravo,  and  she  likeil  this  poij^nard  better  than  even 
■Jie  poisoned  chalice." 

La  ("orriveau  rose  up  now,  well  satisfied  with  her  fore- 
s^ht  and  preparation.  She  placed  the  ebony  casket  care- 
;.;:ly  in   her  bosom,  cherishing;  it   like   an   only  child,  as  slie 

Idked  out  of  the  room  with  her  Cjuiet,  tiL;er-like  tread. 
Htr  look  into  the  future  was  pleasant  to  her  at  this  moment. 
There  was  the  prospect  of  an  ample  reward   for  her  trouble 

kind  ri>k,  and  the  anticipated  pleasure  of  practising;  iier  skill 
apon  one  whose  position  she  regarded  as  similar  to  that  of 
the  fjreat  dames  of  the  Court,  whom  Ivxiii  and  La  Voisin  had 
P'lisoned  during  the  high  carnival  of  death,  in  the  days  of 

iLmiis  XIV. 
She  was  now  ready,  and  waited  impatiently  to  depart. 
Ihe  guodman  I  )odier  brought  the  caleche  to  the  door. 
It  was  a  substantial,  two-wheeled  vehicle,  with  a  curious 
a.ranijeinent  of  springs,  made  out  of  the  elastic  wood  of 
the  hickory.  The  horse,  a  stout  Norman  pony,  well  har- 
ae>se(l,  sleek  and  glossy,  was  lightly  Iu;ld  by  tlie  hand  of 
the  gooihnan,   who  patted  it  kindly  as  an  old  friend;   and 

Ithe  pony,  in   some  sort,  after  an   equine  fashion,  returned 

|the  affection  of  its  master. 

La  (orriveau,  with  an  agility  hardly  to  be  expected  from 
her  years,  seated  herself  besitle  l''anc'hon  in  the  caleche,  and 

L'iviiij;  her  willing  horse  a  sharj-)  cut  with  the  lash  for  spite, 

riot  for  need,  -  ■  goodman  Dodier  said,  only  to  anger  him,  — 

hhey  set  off  at  a  rapid   pace,  and  were  soon  out  of  sight  at 

ho  turn  of  the  dark  pine-woods,  on  their  way  to  the  city  of 

I'^iebec. 


384 


TIIK    (iULDKN     i)()(i. 


AnfTclique  cles  Meloises  had  remained  all  day  in  lur 
house,  counting  the  hours  as  they  Hew  by,  laden  with  tin 
fate  of  her  unsuspecting  rival  at   I'eaunianoir. 

Night  had  now  closed  in  ;  the  lamps  were  lit.  liu-  tirt. 
again  burned  red  ujion  the  hearth.  Ilertloor  was  iiu-xdr 
ably  shut  against  all  \isitors.  Lizette  had  been  >imu  a\va\ 
until  the  morrow;  Angelique  sat  alone  and  e.xpectani  df  tin 
arrival  of  La  Corriveau. 

The  gay  dress  in  which  she  had  outshone  all  her  sex  at 
the  ball  (jn  the  previous  night  la\-  still  in  a  heap  uyion  the 
Hoor,  where  last  night  she  had  thrown  it  aside,  like  ^hc  rojti 
of  innocence  which  once  invested  her.  Her  face  was  boan 
tiful,  but  cruel,  and  in  its  expression  terrible  as  Mi(li.a> 
brooding  over  her  vengeance  sworn  against  ("rt'iisa  tor  Iilt 
sin  with  Jason.  She  sat  in  a  careless  dishabille,  with  one 
white  arm  partly  bare.  Her  long  golden  locks  flowed  loosdv 
down  her  back  and  touched  the  Hoor,  as  she  >at  on  Iki 
chair  and  watched  and  waited  for  the  coming  footstep^  ot  I,,, 
Corriveau.  Her  lips  were  compressed  with  a  terrihU'  loo 
lution  ;  her  eyes  glanced  red  as  they  alternately  ritiectcil 
the  glow^  of  the  fire  within  them  and  of  the  fire  without. 
Her  hands  were  clasped  nervously  together,  with  a  grip  like 
iron,  and  lay  in  her  lap,  while  her  dainty  foot  niaiked  the 
rhythm  of  the  tragical  thoughts  that  swejit  like  a  sons;  of 
doom  through   her  soul. 

The  few  compimctious  feelings  which  struggled  up  into 
her  mind  were  instantly  overborne  by  the  passionate  reflec- 
tion that  the  lady  of  IJeaumanoir  must  die  !  "  1  miht.  or 
she  must — one  or  other!  We  cannot  both  live  and  marry 
this  man  !  "  exclaimed  she,  passionately.  "  Has  it  come  to 
this:  which  of  us  shall  be  the  wife,  which  the  mistress?  Hy 
(iod,  I  would  kill  him  too,  if  I  thought  he  hesitated  in  lii^ 
choice;  but  he  shall  soon  have  no  choice  but  one!  litT 
death  be  on  her  own  head  and  on  iJigot's  not  nii 
mine  !  " 

And  the  wretched  girl  strove  to  throw  the  guilt  <>!  the  sin 
she  premeditated  upon  her  victim,  upon  the  liUendant,  up'ii 
fate,  and,  with  a  last  subterfuge  to  hide  the  en'rinit\()l  it 
from  her  own  eyes,  upon  La  Corriveau,  whom  she  \\o!il( 
lead  on  to  su<.!:£rest  the  crime  and  commit  it  !  a  course  whid 
Angelique  tried  to  believe  would  be  more  venial  tli;in  if  lU 


WMIKl)    SISTERS. 


385 


,11   (lily   in   hir 

adcn  with  tht 

r. 

re    Hi.  ihf  tire 

lor  was  iiu'\(ir 

ecn   M'lU  aw.iv 

xpectam  of  tht 

;  all  her  sex  at 
heap  upon  iht- 
e.  like  ^lic  ioIm 
face  was  ht'iiM- 
:)le    as    Mr(ka\ 
("reiisa  fur  her 
abille.  with  one 
s  tlowed  loosely 
she   sat  (111  licr 
footstep^  lit  j„i 
a   terrible  ron- 
nately  retlocteil 
le   tire   withonl,  I 
with  a  ^rip  like  ] 
oot  marked  the 
like  a  soiiii  (it 

m.^^le'd  up  into 
issionate  retluc- 
!  "  I  imbt.  cr 
live  and  many 
Has  it  cdiiif  It' 
e  mistress  ?  I'} 
hesitated  in  hi- 
hut  one  :  Ih' 
(rot's       nut    nil 

cruilt   'it    ll>*-'  >'" 

Intend  ant,  up'Hj 
0  cn^rniit}  »'i  it 
lioni   she  W'mW 
a  course  whidi  I 

venial  tlum  it  it 


were  suji^cstcd  by  herself  !  less  heinous  in  her  own  eyes, 
and  less  wicked  in   the  si.^ht  of  (lod. 

••Whv  did  that  nivsterious  woman  jio  to  l»eaumanoir  and 
^.icc  herself  in  the  path  (jf  An^elitp.ie  des  MelcMses  .''  "  ex- 
claimed she  angrily.  "Why  did  llij^ot  reject  my  earnest 
pravcr,  tor  it  was  earnest,  for  a  httrc  Jr  i\uhi't  to  send  her 
anharmed  away  out  of   New  I'rance  ?  " 

Then  .\n<;e'lique  sat  and  listened  without  moxin^^  for  a 
nil.:  time.  The  clock  ticked  loud  and  warnin^ly.  There 
'A,i>  a  si:;liing  of  the  w  iiid  about  the  windows,  as  if  it  souf;ht 
.uJmittance  t(j  reason  and  remonstrate  with  her.  A  cricket 
\ui,Miis  monotonous  sont;  on  the  hearth.  In  the  wainscot 
ot  the  room  a  deathwatch  ticked  its  dolefid  omen.  The 
bl  in  the  courtvard  howled  plaintivelv  as  the  hour  of  mid- 
ni;'hi  sounded  upon  the  ("otnent  bell,  close  by.  'I'he  bell 
iiad  scareelv  ceased  ere  she  was  startled  bv  a  sli<:ht  creaking 
iike  the  opening;  of  a  door,  followeil  by  a  whisperinf^j  and  the 
ribtle  (if  a  woman's  garments,  as  of  one  approachinf:;  with 
caiiti(jus  steps  up  the  stair.  A  thrill  of  expectation,  not 
imniin^Ied  with  fear,  shot  throu<;h  the  breast  of  Angelicpie. 
."5he  sprani;  up.  exclaiminij;  to  herself,  "She  is  come,  and  all 
the  demons  that  wait  on  murder  come  with  her  into  my 
thainher !  "  A  knock  followed  on  the  door,  .\ngelicpie, 
\ery  ai,Mtated  in  spite  of  her  fierce  efforts  to  appear  calm, 
bade  them  come  in. 

laiiehon  opened  the  door,  and,  with  a  courtesy  to  her 
mistress,  ushered  in  La  C'orriveau,  who  walked  straight  into 
the  room  and  stood  fac   to  face  with  .\nge'lic|ue. 

The  e\es  of  the  two  women  instantly  met  in  a  searchinji 
glance  that  took  in  the  whole  look,  bearing",  dress,  and 
■ilniDst  the  very  thoughts  of  each  other.  In  that  one  glance 
each  knew  and  understood  the  (Jtlier,  and  could  trust  each 
"ther  in  e\il,  if  not  in   good. 

And  there  was  trust  between  them.  The  evil  spirits  that 
[Possessed  each  of  their  hearts  shook  hands  together,  and  a 
silent  league  was  sworn  to  in  their  souls  before  a  word  was 
[spoken. 

And  yet  how  unlike  to  human  eye  were  these  two  women  I 
-how  hke  in  Ciod's  eye,  that  sees  the  heart  and  reads  the 
"Pirit. of  what  manner  it  is!  .Angelicpie,  radiant  in  the  bloom 
'•Jtyiiuth  and  beauty,  her  golden  iiair  lloating  about  her  like 


386 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


a  cloud  of  glory  round  a  daughter  of  the  sun,  with  her 
womanly  perfections  which  made  the  world  seem  l)ii;fhtLr 
for  such  a  revelation  of  completeness  in  every  cxicinal 
charm ;  La  Corriveau,  stern,  dark,  angular,  her  line-cut 
features  crossed  with  thin  lines  of  cruelty  and  cunnin;,',  no 
mercy  in  her  eyes,  still  less  on  her  lips,  and  none  at  ;ill  in 
her  heart,  cold  to  every  humane  feeling,  and  wiumiivj,  unlv 
to  wickedness  and  avarice  :  still  these  womeji  iLCfi^nii/cd 
each  other  as  kindred  pirits.  crafty  and  \oid  ot  (on^ciinct 
in  the  accomplishment  of  their  ends. 

Had  fate  exchanged  the  outward  circumstances  of  ihur 
lives,  each  might  have  been  the  other  easily  and  iiaiurallv. 
The  proud  beauty  had  nothing  in  her  heart  better  than 
La  Corriveau,  and  the  witch  of  St.  Valier,  if  born  in  lii.xmv 
and  endowed  with  beauty  and  wealth,  would  have  rivalled 
Angelique  in  seductiveness,  and  hardly  fallen  below  her  in 
ambition  and  power. 

La  (!orriveau  saluted  Angelicpie,  who  made  a  si-n  in 
Fanchon  to  retire.  The  girl  obeyed  somewhat  reluctaiitlv. 
She  had  hoped  to  be  present  at  the  interview  between  her 
aunt  and  her  mistress,  for  her  curiosity  was  greatly  excited. 
and  she  now  suspected  there  \va  .  more  in  this  visit  than  >hc 
had  been  told. 

Ange'licjue  invited  La  Corriveau  to  remove  her  cloak  and 
broad  hat.  Seating  her  in  her  own  luxurious  chair,  she  sat 
down  beside  her,  and  began  the  conversation  with  the  usual 
platitudes  and  connnonplaces  of  the  time,  dwellinu  longer 
upon  them  than  need  was.  as  if  she  hesitaterl  or  feared  to 
bring  up  the  real  subject  of  this  midnight  conference. 

"  My  I^ady  is  fair  to  look  on.  All  women  will  admit  that; 
all  men  swear  to  it !  "  said  La  Corriveau.  in  a  harsh  voici' 
that  grated  ominously,  like  the  door  of  hell  which  she  \\a> 
opining  with  this  commencement  of  her  business. 

Angeliciue  replied  only  with  a  smile.  A  coiiiplinieiit 
from  La  Corriveau  even  was  not  wasted  upon  her;  but  ju.>-i 
now  she  was  on  the  brink  of  an  abyss  of  explanjition,  leuk- 
ing  down  into  the  dark  pit,  resolved,  yet  hesitating  lo  make 
the  plunge. 

"No  witch  or  witchery  but  your  own  charms  is  needal. 
Mademoiselle,"  continued  La  Corriveau,  falling  into  the  timo 
of  Mattery  she  often  used  towards  her  dupes,  "  to  ni;ike  what 


WKIKI)    SIS'J'KKS. 


387 


fortune  you  will  in  this  world  ;  what  pearl  ever  fished  out  of 
;he  sea  could  add  a  grace  to  this  wondrous  hair  of  yours  ? 
IVrmit  me  to  touch  it,  Mademoiselle  !  " 

La  C'orriveau  took  hold  of  a  thick  tress,  and  held  it  up  to 
;lie  iit;ht  of  the  lamp,  where  it  shone  like  gold.  Aiigeliciue 
.«lii;ink  hack  as  from  the  touch  of  fire.  She  withdrew  her 
ii.iir  with  a  jerk  from  the  hand  of  La  Corriveau.  A  shudder 
iibsetl  through  her  from  head  to  foot.  !l  wai-  the  last 
parlin.u'  effort  of  her  good  genius  to  save   her. 

••|)()  iu){  touch  it!  ''  said  she  (juickiy;  "  I  have  set  my  life 
and  soul  on  a  desperate  venture,  hut  my  hair  I  have  devoted 
1;  lo  (Hir  Lady  of  St.  Foye  ;  it  is  hers,  not  mine!  Do  not 
touch  it,  Dame  Dodier." 

An^eliciue  was  thinking  of  a  vow  she  had  once  made 
'jttore  the  shrine  of  the  little  church  of  Loretle.  "My  hair 
is  the  one  thing  belonging  to  nie  that  I  will  keep  pure,'' 
continued  she;  "so  do  not  be  angry  with  me,"  she  added, 
.ipulo^^etically. 

•  I  am  not  angry,"  replied  La  C'orriveau,  with  a  sneer. 
■1  am  used  to  strange  hmnors  in  people  who  ask  my  aid; 
•Jiev  alwavs  fall  out  with  themsehes  before  they  fall  in  with 
\.\  Corriveau." 

"Do  you  know  why  I  have  sent  for  you  at  this  hour,  good 
iUme  hodier?"  asked  Angelique,  abruptly. 

•Call  me  La  Corriveau ;  I  am  not  good  Dame  Dodier. 
Mi'ic  is  an  ill  name,  and  I  like  it  best,  and  so  should  you, 
Mademoiselle,  for  the  business  you  sent  me  for  is  not 
wliat  people  who  say  their  prayers  call  good.  It  was  to  lind 
your  lost  jewels  that  h'anchon  Dodier  sununoned  me  lo  your 
allude,  was  it  not?"  I^a  C'orriveau  uttered  this  with  a  sup- 
piij'Sed  smile  of  incredulity. 

"Ah!  1  bade  I''anchon  tell  you  that  in  order  to  deceive 
liLT,  not  you  1  l!ut  you  know  better.  La  C'orriveau  !  It  was 
ni)i  for  the  sake  of  paltry  jewels  1  desired  you  to  come  to 
lilt' city  to  see  me  at  this  hour  of  midnight." 

"I  omjectured  as  much!"  replied  La  Corriveau,  with  a 
Midonic  smile  which  showed  her  small  teeth,  white,  even, 
and  cruel  as  those  of  a  wildcat.  •• 'I'lie  jewel  }'ou  luwe  lost 
i>  the  heart  of  your  lover,  aiul  you  thought  La  Corriveau 
'''id  ,1  cliaiiu  to  wi)i  it  back  ;  was  not  that  it.  Madmioiselle  .''  " 
An:;eli(|ue  sat  upright,  ga/.iug  I)oldly  into  the  eyes  of  her 


388 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


visitor.  "  Ves,  it  was  that  and  more  than  that  I  su'  mdncd 
you  for.  Can  you  not  guess?  You  are  wise.  La  C'orrivcai:. 
you  know  a  woman's  desire  better  than  she  dare  avuw  it  [,, 
herself !  " 

"Ah!"  replied  La  C'orriveau.  returning  her  scrutiny  wiiii 
the  eyes  of  a  basilisk ;  a  green  light  Hashed  out  of  their  dark 
depths.  '•  \'ou  ha\e  a  lover,  and  you  have  a  rival.  Imo  :  \ 
woman  more  potent  than  yourself,  in  spite  of  your  hcai;i, 
and  your  fascinations,  has  caught  the  eye  and  entangled  tlii 
affections  of  the  man  you  love,  and  you  ask  my  coun>Ll  how 
to  win  him  back  and  how  to  triumpii  ov^r  your  ri\ai.  1>  i 
not  for  that  you  have  summoned  La  Corriveau  ?" 

"  Ves,  it  is  that,  and  still  more  than  that  ! "'  repli-d  Aimv 
lique,  clenching  her  hands  hard  together,  and  ga/iiig  earnoilv 
at  the  tile  with  a  look  of  merciless  triumiVn  at  what  she  saw 
there  reflected  from  her  own  thoughts  distinctly  as  if  nIk 
looked  at  her  own  face  in  a  mirror. 

"  It  is  all  that,  and  still  more  than  that, —  cannot  v(»ii  mK-> 
yet  why  I  have  summoned  you  here.''"  continued  .Angeliiiur, 
rising  and  laying  her  left  hand  firmly  upon  the  shoulder  of 
La  Corriveau,  as  she  bent  her  head  and  whispered  with 
terrible  distinctness  in  her  ear. 

La  Corriveau  heard  her  whisper  and  looked  up  eaijjcrlv. 
"Yes,  I  know  now.  Mademoiselle, -- you  woukl  kill  voiir 
rival!  There  is  death  in  your  eye,  in  your  voice,  in  win 
heart,  but  not  in  your  hand  !  ^'ou  would  kill  tlie  woman 
who  robs  you  of  your  lover,  and  you  h;i\e  seni  for  I.h 
Corriveau  to  help  you  in  the  good  work  I  It  is  a  good  work 
in  the  eyes  of  a  woman  to  kill  her  ri\al  I  l)ut  wli\-  >liouKi  I 
do  that  to  please  you?  What  do  I  care  for  your  low:. 
Ange'li(|ue  des  Aleloises  ?  " 

Angelicpie  was  startled  to  hear  from  the  lii)s  of  anotlici. 
words  which  gave  free  expression  to  her  own  secret  ihou^iib 
A  denial  was  on  her  lip.s,  but  the  lie  remaiu'.'d  unspoken. 
She  trembled  before  La  Corriveau,  but  her  resolution  vub 
unchanged. 

"  It  was    not  only    to    please    me,  but    to   |)rolit    your.self 
that    1   sent  for   you!"   .\ngeli(|ue   replied  eagerlw  like  oiic| 
trying  to  outstrip  her  conscience  and  prevent   it  ironiovci- 
taking  her  sin.     "  Hark  you  !  you  love  gold.  La  ( 'orri\(.'aii. 
I    will    gi\e     you    all    you    cra\e    in    return    for   your  h.'ij' 


WEIRU    SISTERS. 


389 


_for  lielp  me  you  shall  !  you  will  never  repent  of  it  if  you 
do;  you  will  never  cease  to  regret  it  if  you  do  not  !  I  will 
make  you  rich,  La  Corriveau  !  or  else,  i)y  God  !  do  you  hear  ? 
[  ^\vcar  it  !  I  will  have  you  burnt  for  a  witch,  and  your  ashes 
jircwn  all  over  St.  Valier !  " 

1, a  Corriveau  spat  contemptuously  upon  the  Hoor  at  the 
holv  name.  "  Vou  are  a  fool,  Angelique  des  Meloises,  to 
speak  thus  to  nie  !  Do  you  know  who  and  what  I  am.' 
Vou  are  a  poor  butterliy  to  flutter  your  gay  wings  against 
La  Corriveau;  but  still  I  like  your  spirit!  women  like 
vou  arc  rare.  The  blood  of  Kxili  could  not  have  spoken 
iiokler  than  you  do  :  you  want  the  life  of  a  wonurn  who  has 
^in(lle(l  tlie  iiell-fiie  of  jeaknisy  in  your  heart,  and  you 
•v.uit  me  to  tell  y(ju  how  to  get  your  revenge  !  " 

•'I  do  want  vou  to  do  it.  La  Corriveau,  and  vour  reward 
shall  he  great  !  "  answered  Angelique  with  a  burst  of  im- 
Ijitionce.      She  could  beat  about  llie  bush   no  longer. 

"To  kill  a  woman  or  a  man  were  of  itself  a  pleasure  even 

iihuui  the  profit,"  re[)lied  La  Corriveau,  doggedly.  "  Ikit 
.viiy  should  1  run  myself  into  danger  for  y(ju,  Mademoiselle 
lies  Meloises  ?     Ha\-e  you  gold  enough  to  balance  the  risk  ?  " 

Angelique  had  now  fairly  overleaped  all  barriers  of  re- 
verve.  "  I  will  give  you  more  than  your  eyes  ever  beheld, 
it  you  will  serve  me  in  this  n-.atler,   Dame   Dodier!" 

"  Perhaps  so,  but  I  am  getting  old  and  trust  neither  nuu) 
nor  woiuan.  Ciix'e  a  pledge  of  your  good  faith,  before  }ou 
>[)eak  one  word  faither  to  me  on  this  bu.^iness,  I\Lidemoi- 
sellc  (Ics  Meloises."  La  Corri\eau  held  out  her  double 
hands  signiticantly. 

■'A  pledge?  that  is  gold   you  want!"   replied   Ange'liciue. 

\es.  La  Corrixeau  ;  I  will  bind  you  to  me  with  chains  ol 
.;iil(l :  you  shall  ha\e  it  uncounted,  as  I  get  it,  gold  enough 
to  make  you  the  richest  woman  in  St.  X'.dier.  the  richest 
peasant-woman  in   New   l'"rance." 

"I  am  no  peasant-woman."  leplied  La  Corriveau,  with 
.1  loueli  of  pride,  "  1  come  of  a  race  ancient  ami  terrible  as 
the  Roman  Ca'sars  !  l!ut  pshaw  I  what  have  you  to  do  with 
li.U?  (live  me  the  pledge  of  your  good  faith  and  I  will  help 
Vou," 

Ani^^'lique    rose    instantly,    and,    ojiening    the    drawer    of 
1  escritoire,  look  out  a  long  silken  purse   lilled  with  louis 


390 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


d'or,  which  peeped  and  glittered  through  the  interstices  of 
the  net-work.  She  gave  it  with  the  air  of  one  wliy  cared 
nothing  for  money. 

La  (Jorriveau  extended  both  hands  eagerly,  clutching  as 
vvitii  the  claws  of  a  harpy.  She  pressed  the  purse  to  her  thin 
bloodless  lips,  and  touched  with,  the  ends  of  her  honv  tin^ei> 
the  edges  of  the  Ijright  coin  visible  through  the  silken  iicl. 

"This  is  indeed  a  rare  earnest-penny!"  e.xclaiincd  La 
Corriveau.  "  I  will  do  your  whole  bidding,  Maflcmuiscllc; 
only  I  must  do  it  in  my  own  way.  I  have  guessed  aright 
the  nature  of  your  trouble  and  the  remedy  you  seek,  lint 
1  canncjt  guess  the  name  of  your  false  lover,  nor  that  of  thi- 
woman  whose  doom   is  sealed  from  this  hour." 

"1  will  not  tell  you  the  name  of  my  lover,"  rei)lictl  An 
gelique.  She  was  reluctant  to  mention  the  name  (»t  lli^^nt 
as  her  lover.  The  idea  was  hateful  to  her.  "  The  name  of 
the  woman  1  cannot  tell  you,  even  if  1  would,"  atkled  she. 

"How,  Mademoiselle?  you  put  the  death-mark  upon  one 
you  do  not  know  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  her  name.  Nevertheless,  La  ("()rri\eau. 
that  gold,  and  ten  times  as  much,  are  yours,  if  you  relievo 
me  of  the  torment  of  knowing  that  the  secret  chaniher  nf 
Heaumanoir  contains  a  woman  whose  life  is  death  to  all 
my   hopes,  and  disappointment  to  all  my  plans. 

The  mention  of  Ueaumanoir  startled  La  Corriveau. 

"The  lady  of  IJeaumanoir  I  "  she  exclaimed,  "whom  tik- 
Abenacjuis  brought  in  from  .Vcadia  ?  I  saw  that  lady  in  tlic 
woods  of  St.  Valier,  when  I  was  gathering  mandrakes  one 
summer  day.  She  asked  me  for  some  water  in  (iotl'^  name. 
1  cur.sed  her  silentlv,  but  I  gave  her  milk.  1  had  no  wakr. 
She  thanked  me.  Oh,  how  she  thanked  me!  noI)otl\  i  .  i 
before  thanked  La  Corriveau  so  sweetly  as  she  did  !  I.  cvli: 
I,  bade  her  a  good  journey,  when  she  started  on  afre>h  wiili 
her  Indian  guides,  after  asking  me  the  distance  and  dir('cti"n| 
of  iieaunuinoir." 

This  unexpected  touch  of  sym[)athy  surprised  and  ie\((IUHl 
Angeli(|ue  a  little. 

"You  know  her  then!  That  is  rare  fortune.  I, a  Citiii 
veau,"  said  she:  "  she  will  remember  you.  you  will  h.>\^' 
less  difliculty  in  gaining  access  to  her  and  winnin;^  Inn 
confidence." 


WEIKU    SISTERS. 


391 


soil  .uul  rrvulU'il 


La  Corriveau  clapped  her  hands,  laughing  a  strange 
kiiigli.  that  sounded  as  if  it  catne  from  a  deep  well. 

••  Know  her }  That  is  all  I  know ;  she  thanked  me 
sweetly.  I  said  so,  did  I  not?  but  I  cursed  her  in  my 
hcMit  when  she  was  gone.  I  saw  she  was  both  beautiful 
and  good, — two  things   1   hate."' 

••Do  you  call  her  beautiful?  I  care  not  whether  she  be 
;MOcl.  that  will  avail  nothing  with  him  ;  but  is  she  beautiful, 
La  Corriveau  ?     Is  she  fairer  than  I,  think  you  ?  " 

La  Corriveau  looked  at  Angclicjue  intently  and  laughed. 
••  1  aiicr  than  you?  Listen  !  It  was  as  if  I  had  seen  a  vision. 
She  was  very  beautiful,  and  \ery  sad.  I  could  wish  it  were 
another  than  she,  for  oh,  shu  spoke  to  me  the  sweetest  I  was 
ever  spoken  to  since  I  came  into  the  world." 

An;;clique  ground  her  teeth  with  anger.  "  What  did  you 
J. I,  La  Corriveau?  Did  you  not  wish  her  dead?  Did  you 
ihink  liic  Inteiidant  or  any  man  could  not  help  loving  her  to 
liie  rejection  of  any  other  woman   in   the  world?     What  did 

\0U  (1(.)  ?  " 

"Do?  I  went  on  picking  my  mandrakes  in  the  forest, 
,ind  waited  for  you  to  send  for  La  Corriveau.  You  desire 
'i')  punish  the  Intendant  for  his  treachery  in  forsaking  you 
lur  one  more  beautiful  and  better  I  " 

It  was  but  a  bold  guess  of  La  Corriveau,  but  she  had 
divined  the  truth.  The  Intendant  l>igot  was  the  man  who 
v.as  i)l;iying  false  wiih  AngeMique. 

Her  words  filled  u]3  the  measure  of  .Vngelique's  jealous 
luiie,  and  confirmed  her  terrible  resolution.  Jealousy  is 
never  so  omnipotent  as  when  its  rank  suspicions  are  fed  and 
Aalered  by  the  tales  of  others. 

"  There  can  be  but  one  life  between  her  and  me  !  "  replied 
ihe  vehement  gill ;  "  Angelique  des  Meloises  would  die  a 
tiiuusand  deaths  rather  than  li\e  to  feed  on  the  crumbs  of 
any  man's  love  while  another  woman  feasts  at  his  table.  1 
>ent  tnr  you,  La  Corrixeau,  to  take  my  gold  and  kill  that 
'Auman  I  " 

"Kill  that  woman  I  It  is  easily  said.  Mademoiselle:  but  1 
m\\  iioi  forsake  you,  were  she  the  Madonna  herself!  1  hate 
lier  tor  her  goodness,  as  you  hate  her  for  her  beauty.  La)' 
■nidther  purse  by  the  side  of  this,  and  in  thrice  thiee  days 
iherc  shall  be  weeping  in  thi'  Chateau  of   lieauinanoir,  and 


392 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


no  one   shall   know  who  has  killed  the   cuck(iuean  of  tlit 
Chevalier  Intendant!" 

Angclic[ue  sprang  up  with  a  cry  of  exultation,  like  a  j)an- 
theress  seizing  her  prey.  She  clasped  La  C'orriveau  in  her 
arms  and  kissed  her  dark,  withered  cheek,  exclaiminu.  '•  Ws 
that  is  her  name!  His  cuckquean  she  is;  his  wife  slic  i^ 
not  and  never  shall  be!  —  Thanks,  a  million  golden  iliank^. 
La  Corriveau,  if  you  fulfil  your  prophecy  !  In  thrice  ihieL 
days  from  this  hour,  was  it  not  that  you  said  .''  " 

"Understand  me!"  said  La  ("orriveau,  "I  serve  vmi  for 
your  money,  not  for  your  liking!  but  I  have  my  own  \n\-  [y, 
making  my  hand  felt  in  a  world  which  I  hate  and  which 
hates  me  !  "  La  Corriveau  held  out  her  hands  as  it  thi 
ends  of  her  fingers  were  trickling  poison.  "  Death  diojis  on 
whomsoever  I  send  it,"  said  she,  '•  so  secretly  and  so  suhtlv 
that  the  very  spirits  of  air  cannot  detect  the  trace  of  ihc 

Angelique  listened  with  amaze,  yet  trembled  with  eager- 
ness to  hear  more.  "What!  La  Corriveau,  have  voii  the 
secret  of  the  iiijua  tofaiia,  which  the  world  believes  was  luirni 
with  its  possessors  two  generations  ago,  on  the  Place  dc 
Grl've  ?  " 

"  Such  secrets  nevci  die,"  replied  the  poisoner:  "  ihey  are 
too  precious  !  Few  men,  still  fewer  women,  are  tiiere  who 
would  not  listen  at  the  door  of  hell  to  learn  them.  The 
king  in  his  palace,  the  lady  in  her  tapestried  clianiher.  the 
nun  in  her  cell,  the  very  beggar  on  the  street,  wouhl  ^land 
on  a  jDavement  of  fire  to  read  the  tablets  which  recoril  the 
secret  of  the  atjiia  tofaiia.  Let  me  see  your  hand."  aikicd 
she  abruptly,  speaking  to  Angeliciue. 

Angelicjue  held  out  her  hand  ;  La  Corriveau  seized  it.  She 
looked  intently  upon  the  slender  fingers  and  oval  p>li)i. 
"There  is  evil  enough  in  these  long,  sharp  spatuhv  of  \oins." 
said  she,  "  to  ruin  the  world.  \'ou  are  worthv  to  he  the 
inheritrix  of  all  I  know.  These  fingers  would  jiick  friiii  ii 
the  forbidden  tree  for  men  to  eat  and  die  !  The  ieiiii)ter 
only  is  needed,  and  he  is  never  fai-  off!  Angeli(|ue  do 
Meloises,  1  may  one  ilay  teach  you  the  grand  secret ;  nicaii 
time  1  will  show  you  that  1  possess  it." 


<quean  of  th. 


on,  like  a  pan- 
)rriveaii  in  her 
lainiini;.  '•  W-s, 
his  wife  ^he  i> 
goltlen  thanks. 
In  thriee  liiicL 

serve  ynu  for 
my  own  jnv  ii. 
ale  and  which 
mds  a.s  if  iht.: 
)ealh  drops  on 
y  and  so  suhtlv 
le  trace  of  the 

ed  with  eai^er- 

have   you  the 

ieves  was  Iniriit 

I   the    IMace  dc 

ner  :  *'  ihey  are 
are  there  wlio 
rn  them.  The 
d  chaniher.  the 
jt,  would  siaiih 
lich  record  the 
hand."  .uKleil 

seized  :;.     She 

nd    oval    palm. 

tida'  of  yours." 

rthy   to  i)e  ilu' 

pic  k  fruil    'II 

Tiic  tempter 

\ni;elique  cle> 

secret  ;  mean 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

"FLASKETS    OF    DRUGS,    FULL     JO    THEIR    WICKED    LIFS." 

LA  CORRIVKAT  took  the  ebony  casket  from  her 
bosom  and  laid  it  solemnly  on  the  table.  "  Do  not 
cross  yourself,"'  she  exclaimed  angrily  as  she  saw  Ange'lique 
mechanicallv  make  the  sacred  si^rn,  "Tliere  can  come  no 
blessiiiiis  here.  There  is  death  enouiih  in  that  casket  to  kill 
every  man  and  woman  in  Xew  I""rance." 

.\nu,elique  fastened  her  gaze  upon  the  casket  as  if  she 
Auukl  have  drawn  out  the  secret  of  its  contents  by^  the 
very  magnetism  of  her  eyes.  She  laid  her  hand  upon  it 
caressingly,  yet  tremblingly  —  eager,  yet  fearful,  to  see  its 
contents. 

"Open  it!"  cried  La  Corriveau,  "press  the  spring,  and 
viiu  will  see  such  a  casket  of  jewels  as  queens  might  envy. 
it  was  the  wedding-gift  of  Beatrice  Spara,  and  once  belonged 
io  tile  house  of  IJorgia  —  Lucrezia  IJorgia  had  it  from  her 
terrible  father;  and  he,  from  the  prince  of  demons  I  " 

.\i\gelique  pressed  the  little  spring,  —  the  lid  flew  open, 
,uul  there  flashed  from  it  a  light  which  for  the  moment 
dazzled  her  eyes  with  its  brilliancy.  She  thrust  the  casket 
tn>m  her  in  alarm,  and  retreated  a  few  steps,  imagining  slie 
>inelt  the  odor  of  some  deadly  perfume. 

"1  dare  not  apj^roach  it,"  said  she.  ''Its  glittering  terri- 
lies  me  ;  its  odor  sickens  me." 

"Tush!  it  is  your  weak  imagination!"  rejilied  La  Cor- 
riveau; "your  sickly  conscience  frightens  you!  Vou  will 
iieetl  to  cast  off  both  to  rid  Heaumanoir  of  the  presence  of 
your  rival!  The  (rt///<r  tofathi  in  the  hands  of  a  coward  is  a 
,;ifi  as  fatal  to  its  possessor  as  to  its  victim." 

.\uL;eli(|ue  with  a  strong  ettort  tried  to  master  her  fear, 
'lilt  could  not.      She  would  not  again  handle  the  casket. 

1-a  Corriveau  looked  at  her  as  if  suspecting  this  display 
jf  weakness.       She  then  drew  the  casket  to  herself  and  took 

393 


394 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


out  a  vial,  j;ilt  and  chased  with  stran_<;e  symbols.  It  was  not 
laii^er  than  the  little  finger  of  a  delicate  girl.  Its  contents 
glittered  like  a  diamond  in  the  sunshine. 

La  ("oniveau  shook  it  up.  and  immediately  the  liciuid  \va> 
filled  with  a  .  lillion  sjxirks  of  lire.  It  was  the  aijidt  t^j'an.} 
undiluted  by  mercy,  instantaneous  in  its  efTect,  and  not  nicd 
icable  by  any  antidote.  Once  administered,  there  was  no 
more  hope  for  its  victim  than  for  the  souls  of  the  danined 
who  have  received  the  final  judgment.  One  drop  ol  thai 
bright  water  upon  the  tongue  of  a  Titan  would  blast  him 
like  Jove's  thunderbolt,  would  shrivel  him  up  to  a  '>i  wi- 
unsightly  cinrler ! 

This  was  the  poison  of  anger  and  revenge  that  would  noi 
wait  for  time,  and  braved  the  world's  justice.  With  that  vial 
La  IJorgia  killed  her  guests  at  the  fatal  bancjuet  \\\  her 
palace,  and  ISeatrice  Spara  in  her  fury  destroyed  the  lair 
Milanese  who  had  stolen  from  her  the  heart  of  .\inoniu 
Kxili. 

This  terrible  water  was  rarely  used  alone  by  the  ])()i.s(jn- 
ers ;  but  it  formed  the  basis  of  a  hundred  slower  potidii^ 
which  ambition,  fear,  avarice,  or  hypocrisy  mingled  with  ihf 
element  of  time,  and  colored  with  the  various  hues  and 
aspects  of  natural  disease. 

Angelique  sat  down  and  leaned  towards  La  C'orri\cau, 
supporting  her  chin  on  the  palms  of  her  hands  as  she  !icn; 
eagerly  over  the  table,  drinking  in  every  word  as  the  hui 
sand  of  the  desert  drinks  in  the  water  poured  up(kii  ii. 
"  What  is  that .'' "  said  she,  pointing  to  a  vial  as  while  a> 
milk  and  seeminglv  as  harmless. 

"That,"  replied  La  ("orriveau,  "is  the  milk  of  nKicv. 
It  brings  on  painless  consumption  and  decay.  It  cat>  the 
life  out  of  a  man  while  the  moon  empties  and  fills  once  or 
twice.  His  friends  say  he  dies  of  quick  decline,  ami  so  lie 
does  !  ha  !  ha  !  when  his  enemy  wills  it !  The  strong  man 
becomes  a  skeleton,  and  blooming  maidens  sink  intcj  their 
graves  l)lighted  and  bloodless,  with  white  lips  and  IumiI> 
that  cease  gradually  to  beat,  men  know  not  why.  Nrilhti 
saint  nor  sacrament  can  arrest  the  doom  of  the  luilk  i! 
mercy." 

"This  vial,"  continued  she,  lifting  up  another  from  tlu' 
caske^t    and    replacing   the    first,   licking   her  thin    lip.^  wit'' 


FLASKETS    OF     DKUCIS. 


395 


oiufoiind  satisfaction  as  she  did  so,  "this  contains  the 
,icrid  venom  that  grips  the  heart  Hke  the  chuvs  of  a  tiger, 
and  the  man  ch'o[)s  down  dead  at  the  time  apjiointed. 
lools  say  he  died  of  the  visitation  of  God.  I'he  visitation 
f  God ! "  repeated  she  in  an  accent  of  scorn,  and  the  foul 
vitch  spat  as  she  pronounced  the  sacred  name.  "  Leo  in 
:ii.s  sign  ripens  the  deadly  nuts  of  the  Kast,  which  kill  when 
Cod  will  not  kill.  He  who  has  this  vial  for  a  pcjssession  is 
:he  lord  of  life."  Siie  replaced  it  tenderly.  It  was  a  favorite 
vial  of  La  ('(jrri\fau. 

"This  one,"'  continued  she,  taking  up  another,  "strikes 
Aith  the  dead  palsy;  and  this  kindles  the  slow,  inextinguish- 
,.blo  fnes  of  ty[)hus.  Here  is  one  liiat  dissohes  all  the  juices 
f  the  bodv,  and  the  bhiod  of  a  man's  \eins  runs  into  a  lake 
Hi  dropsy.  "This,"  taking  up  a  green  \ial,  "  contains  the 
liuintesserice  of  mandrakes  distilled  in  the  alembic  when 
Scorpio  rules  the  hour.  W'hoex'er  takes  this  liquid  "  -  La 
i'orri\eau  shook  it  up  lovingly  "  dies  of  torments  incurable 
as  tlie  foul  disease  of  lust  which  it  simulates  and  pro\okes." 

There  was  one  vial  which  contained  a  black  liquid  like 
oil.  ••  It  is  a  relic  of  the  past,"  said  she',  "  an  heir-loom  from 
;!iL'  (.  lilori^  the  ointers  of  Milan.  With  that  oil  they  spread 
death  through  the  doomed  city,  anointing  its  doors  and 
tiiresholds  with  the  plague  until  the  people  died." 

The  terrible  tale  of  the  anointers  of  Milan  has,  since  the 
(lays  of  La  Corriveau,  been  written  in  choice  Italian  by 
Manzoni,  in  whose  wonderful  book  he  that  will  may  read  it. 

••  This  vial,"  continued  the  witch,  "contains  innumerable 
griefs,  that  wait  upon  the  pillows  of  rejected  and  heart- 
broken lovers,  and  the  wisest  physician  is  mocked  with 
iyin^j;  apjjearances  of  disease  that  defy  his  skill  and  make  a 
t"i»l  of  his  wisdom." 

"()h,  say  no  more  !"  exclaimed  Ange'licpie,  shocked  and 
terrified.  However  inordinate  in  her  desires,  she  was  tlainty 
in  her  ways.  "  It  is  like  a  Sabbat  of  witches  to  hear  you 
i.»lk.  I, a  ("orrixeau  !  "  cried  she,  "1  will  ha\e  none  of  those 
t'Jul  things  whicii  you  propose.  My  ri\al  shall  die  like  a 
'hIv  I  1  will  n(jt  feast  like  a  vampire  on  her  dead  body,  nor 
!>liall  you.  \'ou  lia\e  ('iher  \  ials  in  the  casket  of  better  hue 
and  tlavor.  What  is  this?"  continued  Ange'lique,  taking  out 
inosL-tinted  and  curiously-twisted  bottle  sealed  on  the  top 


39^ 


THE    (JOLDEN    DOG. 


with  the  mystic  pentagon.  "This  looks  prettier,  and  Diav  he 
not  less  sure  than  the  milk  of  mercy  in  its  effect.   What  i.>,  it ':" 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  iaughed  the  woman  with  her  weirdest  l;ul^h. 
"  Your  wisdom  is  but  folly,  Angc'lique  des  Meloiscs !  \  on 
would  kill,  and  still  spare  your  enemy!  That  was  the 
smelling-bottle  of  La  llrinvilliers,  who  took  it  with  her  tij 
the  great  ball  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  where  she  Sfcrcth- 
sprinkled  a  few  drops  of  it  upon  the  handkerchief  ol  the 
fair  Louise  (lauthier,  who,  the  moment  she  put  it  to  hir 
nostrils,  fell  dead  upon  the  lloor.  She  died  and  gaw  no 
sign,  and  no  mim  knew  how  or  why  !  Uut  she  was  the  rival 
of  Brinvilliers  for  the  love  of  (laudin  de  St.  ("roix,  and  i:i 
that  she  resembles  the  lady  of  IJeaumanoir,  as  you  ilo  La 
Brinvilliers  !  " 

'•  And  she  got  her  reward  !  1  would  have  done  the  same 
thing  for  the  same  reason  !  What  more  have  you  to  relate  of 
this  most  precious  vial  of  your  casket  ?  "  asked  Angedi(|iie. 

"That  its  virtue  is  unimpaired.  Three  drops  sprinkled 
upon  a  bouquet  of  flowers,  and  its  odor  breathed  hv  man 
or  woman,  causes  a  sudden  swoon  from  which  the-ie  is  rio 
awakening  more  in  this  world.  People  feel  no  pain,  hut  die 
smiling  as  if  angels  had  kissed  away  their  breath.  Is  it  nut 
a  precious  toy,  Mademoiselle  ? " 

"Oh,  blessed  vial!"  exclaimed  Angt'lique,  pressing  it  i(' 
her  lips,  "  thou  art  my  good  angel  to  kiss  away  the  brealli 
of  the  lady  of  Beaumanoir  !  She  shall  sleep  on  roses,  ha 
Corriveau,  and  vou  shall   make  her  bed  !  " 

"It  is  a  sweet  death,  befitting  one  who  dies  for  lo\a'.  or  b 
killed  by  the  jealousy  of  a  dainty  rival,"'  replied  the  witch: 
"but  1  like  best  those  draughts  which  are  most  bitter  and 
not  less  sure.'' 

"  The  lady  of  Beaumanoir  will  not  be  harder  to  kill  than 
Louise  Gauthier,"  replied  Angelique,  watching  the  glitter  ol 
the  vial  in  the  lamplight.  "  She  is  unknown  even  to  the 
servants  of  the  Chateau;  nor  will  the  Intendant  hiniseil  dare 
to  make  public  either  her  life  or  death  in  his  house." 

"Are  you  sure.  Mademoiselle,  that  the  Intendant  will 
not  dare  to  make  public  the  death  of  that  woman  in  the 
Chateau?"  asked  La  Corriveau,  with  intense  eagerness;  that 
consideration  was  an  important  link  of  the  chain  which  she 
was  forging. 


"  FLASKKTS    OF    DRUGS. 


397 


-Sure  ?  yes,  I  ;iin  sure  Ijy  .1  hundred  tokens  !  "  said  Ange- 
iiqiie,  with  an  air  of  triumph.  "  He  dare  not  even  banish 
iier  fur  n  y  sake,  lest  the  secret  (^f  her  concealment  at  IJeau- 
nianoir  become  known.  We  can  safely  risk  his  displeasure, 
even  hhould  he  suspect  that  1  have  cut  the  knot  he  knew  not 
iiuw  i«)  untie." 

••  \'()U  are  a  bold  girl  I  "  exclaimed  La  C'orriveau,  looking 
nil  her  admiringly,  "  you  are  worthy  to  wear  the  crown  of 
rie()])atra.  the  (|ueen  of  all  the  gypsies  and  enchantresses.  I 
^hall  have  less  fear  now  to  do  your  bidding,  for  you  have  a 
sironiier  spirit  than  mine  to  supjDort  you." 

••'Tis  well.  La  C'orriveau!  Let  lids  \iaj  of  ihinvilliers 
briiiij;  me  the  good  fortune  I  crave,  and  1  will  fill  your  lap 
with  liold.  If  the  ladv  of  IJeaumanoir  shall  find  death  in  a 
bou(|uel  of  flowers,  let  them  be  roses  !  " 

•Hut  how  and  where  to  find  roses  .^  they  have  ceased 
iijooining."  said  La  C'orriveau,  hating  Angelique's  sentiment, 
.111(1  2;lad  to  find  an  objection  to  it. 

•'Not  for  her,  La  Corriveau ;  fate  is  kinder  than  you 
think  I "  Angelicjue  threw  back  a  rich  curtain  and  dis- 
closed a  recess  filled  with  pots  of  blooming  roses  and  Mowers 
uf  various  hues.  "  The  roses  are  blooming  here  which  will 
form  the  bouquet  of  Beaumanoir." 

"  \'uu  are  of  rare  ingenuity,  ]\Liclemoiselle,"  replied  La 
lorri\eau,  admiringly.  "  If  Satan  prompts  you  not,  it  is  l)e- 
iMuse  he  can  teacli  vou  nothing  either  in  lo\e  or  stratagem." 

"Love!"  replied  Angelique  quickly,  "do  not  name  that! 
No  I  I  have  sacrificed  all  love,  or  I  should  not  be  taking 
counsL'l  of  La  C'orriveau  !  " 

Anmiliciue's  thoughts  Hashed  back  upon  Le  Gardeur  for 
one  regretful  moment.  '  \o.  it  is  not  love,"  continued  she, 
"but  I'le  duplicity  of  a  man  before  whom  I  have  lowered  my 
pride.  It  is  the  \engeance  I  have  vowed  upon  a  woman 
tor  whose  sake  I  am  trified  with!  It  is  that  pnjmpts  me  to 
ihis  deed  !  But  no  matter,  shut  up  the  casket.  La  Corriveau  : 
\vi.'  will  talk  now  of  hov»'  and  when  this  thing  is  to  l)e  done." 

The  witch  shut  up  her  infernal  casket  of  ebonw  K-aving 
lilt-  vial  of  l)rin\illiers  shining  like  a  ruby  in  the  lamplight 
upon  the  polished  table. 

The  two  women  sat  down,  their  foreheads  almost  touching 
iogeiher,  with  their  eyes  Hashing  in  lurid  sympathy  as  they 


398 


Tin-:    (iOLDEX    DOG. 


eagerly  discussed  the  position  of  things  in  the  (liairau. 
The  apartments  (jf  Caroline,  the  hours  of  rest  and  ULiiviiv. 
were  all  well  known  to  Angclicjue,  who  had  adroitlv  tisliud 
out  every  fact  from  the  unsuspecting  Fanchon  Oodicr.  ;i> 
had  also  La  Corriveau. 

It  was  known  to  Angeli(|ue  that  the  Intendant  w  iild 
he  absent  from  the  city  for  some  days,  in  con>e(|ueii(  c  of 
the  news  from  l'"rance.  'The  unforlunal'.'  ('arolinc  UdiiM  (n 
dej)ri\ed  of  the  protection  of  his  xigihuit  e\e. 

'I'he  two  women  sat  long  arranging  and  planning  their 
dial)olical  scheme.  'I'hcre  was  no  smile  upcjn  the  thcck  of 
Angelicjue  now.  Her  dim])les,  which  drove  men  hi.kI.  h-d 
disajDi^eared.  Mer  lips,  made  to  distil  \\(irds  swectci  ilian 
honey  of  Ilyhla,  were  now  drawn  together  in  haid  !iiu> 
like  La  ("orriveau's,  —  they  were  cruel  and  untouched  hv  a 
single  trace  of   mercy. 

'I'he  hours  struck  unheeded  on  the  clock  in  the  lo.ni. 
as  it  licked  louder  and  louder  like  a  conscious  nionitur 
beside  them.  Us  slow  finger  hatl  marked  each  wIckkI 
thought,  and  recorded  for  all  time  each  murderous  word  ,b 
it  passed  their  cruel  lips. 

La  Corriveau  held  the  casket  in  her  laj)  with  an  air  ni 
satisfaction,  and  sat  with  eyes  fixed  on  Angeli(|ue.  wlid  \\,i^ 
now  silent. 

"Water  the  roses  well,  Madcnoiselle,"  said  she;  "in 
three  da\s  I  shall  be  here  for  a  bout|uet,  and  in  less  than 
thrice  three  days  I  promise  you  there  shall  be  a  dir^e  Min^ 
for  the  lady  of  IJeaumanoir." 

"  Only  let  it  be  done  soon  and  surely,"'  replied  Ani^c- 
lique,  —  her  very  tone  grew  harsh,-  "but  talk  no  iiion,' 
of  it ;  your  \oice  sounds  like  a  cry  from  a  dark  gallery  iliai 
leads  to  hell.  Would  it  were  done !  I  could  then  .sluii 
up  the  memory  of  it  in  a  tond)  of  silence,  fore\'er.  forcvL-i. 
and  wash  my  hands  of  a  deed  done  by  you,  not  me ! " 

"A  deed  done  l)y  you,  not  me  !  "  She  repeated  the  words. 
as  if  repeating  them  nnide  them  true.  She  would  sluii  uii 
the  memorv  of  her  crime  forever;  she  reflected  not  that  ihe 
guilt  is  in  the  evil  intent,  and  the  sin  the  same  before  God 
even  if  the  deed  be  never  done. 

Ange'lique    was    already    an    eager    sophist.      She    kncv. 
better   than    the   wretched   creature   whom    she    had   hribcu 


KLASKKTS    OK    DkUCJS. 


399 


with  money,  how  intensely  wicked  was  tiie  thin^jj  she  was 
icmptiii^  lier  to  do;  hut  iier  jealousy  niadtleiied  her,  atul  her 
.iinhilion  could  not  let  her  hall  in  her  course. 

There  was  one  thou_;j;ht  which  still  tormented  her  • 
"What  would  the  Intentlant  think?  What  would  he  say 
vhnuKl  he  suspect  her  of  the  murder  of  ("aroline?"  She 
Icareil  his  scrutinizing  investigation  ;  hut.  trusting;  in  her 
power,  she  risked  his  suspicions,  nay,  remembering;  his 
uor(l>.  made  him  in  her  own  mind  an  accessory  in  the 
nnirder. 

It  she  remembered  Le  (lardeur  de  Repentii^ny  at  all  at 
liiis  moment,  it  was  only  to  strani:;le  the  thouij;ht  of  him. 
She  shied  like  a  horse  on  the  brink  of  a  iirecijiice  when  the 
thi)U,;;ht  of  Le  (Hartleur  intruded  itself.  Risini;  suddenly, 
>liL'  hade  La  Corrivean  be  gone  about  her  business,  lest  she 
should  be  templed  to  chani^e  her  mind. 

La  Corriveau  lauj^hed  at  the  last  struggle  of  dying  con- 
Mience.  and  bade  Angeliciue  go  to  bed.  It  was  two  hours 
past  midnight,  and  she  would  bid  l*'anchon  let  her  depart 
to  the  house  of  an  old  crone  in  the  city-who  would  give  her 
abed  and  a  blessing  in  the  devil's  name. 

.\ngelique,  weary  and  agitated,  bade  her  be  gone  in  the 
devil's  name,  if  she  preferred  a  curse  to  a  blessing.  The 
witch,  with  a  mocking  laugh,  rose  and  took  her  departure 
tur  the  night. 

I'anchon,  weary  of  waiting,  had  fallen  asleep.  She 
roused  herself,  offering  to  accompany  her  aunt  in  hopes  of 
learning  something  of  her  interview  with  her  mistress. 
All  she  got  was  a  whisper  that  the  jewels  were  found.  La 
''orri\eau  passed  out  into  the  darkness,  and  plodded  her 
way  to  the  house  of  her  friend,  where  she  resolved  to  stay 
until  she  accomplished  the  secret  and  cruel  deed  she  had 
undertaken  to  perform. 


CHAFIKR   XXXVI. 


THE    IIROAD,    HLACK    GATEWAY    OF    A    LIE. 


THE  Count  de  la  Galissoniere  was  seated  in  his  cahiiui 
a  week  after  tlie  arrival  of  La  Corriveau  on  her  fatal 
errand.  It  was  a  plain,  comfortable  a]Dartnient  he  sat  in. 
hunuj  with  arras,  and  adorned  with  maps  and  pictures.  It 
was  there  he  held  his  daily  sittings  for  the  ordinary  des])atch 
of  business  with  a  few  such  councillors  as  the  occasion 
required  to  be  present. 

The  table  was  loaded  with  letters,  memorandums,  and 
bundles  of  pap'-:r^  tied  up  in  official  style.  I)es])atches 
of  royal  ministers,  bearing  the  broad  seal  of  I'rana'. 
Reports  from  oflicers  of  posts  far  and  near  in  New  I'rancc 
lay  mingled  together  with  silvery  stri])s  of  the  innrr  hark 
of  the  birch,  painted  with  hieroglyphics,  giving  accounts  of 
war  parties  on  the  eastern  frontier  and  in  the  far  west, 
signed  by  the  totems  of  Indian  chiefs  in  alliance  with 
l^'rance.  There  was  a  newly-arrived  ])arcel  of  letters  fiom 
the  bold,  enterprising  Sieur  de  Verendrye,  wIkj  was  ex- 
ploring the  tlistant  waters  of  the  Saskatchewan  and  the 
land  of  the  Hlackfeet,  and  many  a  missive  from  niis.iioii- 
aries,  giving  account  of  wild  regions  which  remain  yd 
almost  a  terra  ina\i:;iuta  to  the  government  whicli  nik"^ 
over  them. 

At  the  Governor's  elbow  sat  his  friend  IJishop  I'oiii 
briand  with  a  secretary  immersed  in  papers.  In  Inmt  d 
him  was  the  Intendant  with  Varin,  Tenisault,  and  D'f.stM'e 
On  one  side  of  the  tal)le,  La  Corne  St.  Luc  was  exaininiiiii; 
some  Indian  despatches  v.ith  Rigaud  de  Vaudreuil  ;  Claude 
Beauharnais  and  the  venerable  .\bbe  Picpiet  overlooking 
with  deep  interest  the  rude  pictorial  despatches  in  tin;  hand' 
of  La  Corne.  Two  gentlemen  of  the  law,  in  furred  ^owns 
and  bands,  stood  waiting  at  one  end  of  the  room,  with  book> 


loo 


THE    BKOAl),    IJLACK    CiATEWAV    OF    A    LIK. 


401 


under  their  arms  and  budgets  of  papers  in  their  h;iiuls  leady 
io  ari;uc  before  the  Council  some  knotty  point  of  controversy 
ari^injj;  out  of  the  concession  of  certain  tiefs  and  jurisdic- 
tiiiiis  ^ranted  under  the  feuchil  hiws  of  the  Colony. 

The  Intendant,  although  personally  at  \ariance  with 
-ivcral  of  the  gentlemen  sitting  at  the  coimcil  table,  did  not 
xi  that  fact  be  visii^le  on  his  counter^ance,  nor  allow  it  to 
interfere  with  the  despatch  of  public  business. 

The  Intendant  was  gay  and  easy  to-duy,  as  was  his  wont, 
wholly  unsuspecting  the  foul  treason  that  was  plotting  by 


[he 


woman  he  admired  against  the  woman  he  loved.  His 
(ipinions  were  sometimes  loftily  expressed,  but  ahvc.ys  cour- 
•d'ously  as  well  as  firmly. 


ai 


\'a^o[   never  drooped   a  feather  in   face   of   his  enemies, 

!)lic  or  private,  but  laughed  and  jested  with   a'l   at   table 
n  the  exuberance  of  a  spirit  which  cared  for  no  one,  and 
iilv  reined  itself  in  when  it  was  politic  to  Hatter  Ids  patrons 
aiul  patronesses  at  Versailles. 

The  business  of  the  Council  had  beg^un.  The  mass  of 
papers  vdiich  lay  at  the  left  hand  of  the  (lovernor  were 
opened  and  read  seriatim  by  his  secretary,  and  tlebated, 
referred,  decided  upon,  or  judgment  postponed,  as  the  case 
>eemed  best  to  the  Council. 

The  C'ount  was  a  man  of  method  and  despatch,  clear- 
maded  and  singularly  free  from  prejudice,  ambiguity,  or 
hesitation.  He  was  honest  and  frank  in  coinicil,  as  he  was 
;:allant  on  the  quarter-deck.  The  Intendant  was  not  a  whit 
liehind  him  in  point  of  ability  and  knowledge  of  the  political 
affairs  itf  the  colony,  and  surpassed  him  in  inliuence  at  the 
amrt  of  Louis  XV.,  but  less  frank,  for  he  had  much  to  ccjn- 
ceal,  and  kept  authority  in  his  own  hands  as  far  as  he  was 
able. 

Disliking  each  other  profoundly  from  the  total  divergence 
"f  ih'.'ir  ch.iracters,  opinions,  and  habits,  the  Cox  rnor  and 
Intendant  still  met  courteous! \-  at  the  coiuu:il-tal)li.',  and  not 
wiihout  a  certain  respect  for  the  rare  talents  which  each 
recognized  in   the  othi-r. 

Many  oi  the  pajK'rs  lying  before  them  were  on  subjects 
rehiting  to  the  internal  administration  of  the  Colony,  peti- 
'^iins  of  the  people  suffering  from  the  exactions  of  the 
OMiiinissaries  of  the   army,  remonstrances  against  the  late 


402 


IIII':    GOLDKN     DOC. 


decrees  of  the  Intendant,  arid  arrets  of  the  hi^h  (runt  mI 
justice  confirming  the  right  of  the  (irand  Cldinpaiu  i-, 
exercise  certain  new  monopolies  of  trade. 

The  discussions  were  earnest,  and  sometimes  uann.  on 
these  important  questions.  La  C'orne  vSt.  Luc  assalK-tl  ihr 
new  regulations  of  the  Intendant  in  no  measured  W\\\\>  of 
denunciati jn,  in  which  he  was  sujjported  bv  Kigaiid  c!u 
Vaudreuil  and  the  (.'hevalier  de  Ileauharnais.  Dui  lii^oi. 
without  condescending  to  the  trouble  of  defending  the  onli- 
nances  on  any  soimd  principle  of  public  policy,  wiiirh  h. 
knew  to  be  useless  and  inijoossihle  with  the  cle\er  lurn  >'u 
ting  at  the  table,  contented  himself  witli  a  cold  smile  a;  ilu' 
honest  warmth  of  La  C'orne  St.  Luc,  and  simply  liadc  hi,-. 
.secretary  read  the  orders  and  despatches  from  \'er.saill,-, 
in  the  name  of  the  royal  'uinisters,  and  approved  ot  l)v  tin 
King  him.self  in  a  IJt  dr  Jit>-/itr  which  had  justified  eveiv 
act  done  by  him  in  fa\'or  of  the  Clrand  Company. 

The  (iovernor,  trammelled  on  all  sides  by  the  powers 
conferred  upon  the  Litendant,  felt  unable  to  exercise  the 
authority  he  necdec^  to  \  indicate  the  cause  of  right  and 
justice  in  the  colony.  His  own  instructions  confirnu-d  the 
pretensions  of  the  Intendant,  and  of  the  (Irand  ('()iii]ianv, 
The  utino.st  he  could  do  in  behalf  of  the  true  interests  ot 
the  people  and  of  the  King,  as  opposed  to  the  herd  of 
greedy  courtiers  and  selfish  beauties  who  surrounded  him. 
was  to  soften  the  deadening  blows  they  dealt  upon  the  trade 
and  resources  of  the  ( "olony. 

A  decree  authorizing  the  issue  of  an  unlimited  quantity  of 
paper  bills,  the  predecessors  of  the  assignats  of  the  mother 
country,  was  strongly  adx'ocated  by  Digol,  who  supported 
his  views  with  a  degree  of  financial  soj^histry  which  ^llo^\el! 
that  he  had  effectively  mastered  the  science  of  delusion  .iii'i 
fraud  of  which  Law  had  been  tiie  great  teacher  in  I'raiKe, 
and  the  Mississippi  scheme,  the  prototype  of  the  (Iraiul 
Company,  the  great  exemplar. 

La  Corne  St.  T/Uc  opposed  the  measure  foreihl}.  "Ih 
wanted  no  paper  lies."  he  said,  "to  cheat  the  husli.uulin.ii; 
of  his  corn  and  tlie  laborer  of  his  hire,  if  the  gold  ami 
silver  had  all  to  be  sent  to  b'rance  to  panqjer  the  lu\u:it^"i 
a  swarm  of  idlers  at  the  Court,  they  could  buy  and  sell  i-i 
they  had  done  in  the  early  days  of  the  Colony,  widi  In-'avit 


nics  wanii.  on 
ic  assaili'd  ihr 
-.ured  U-v\w>  ot 
by    Kipiaiul   dc 

S.  llul     \\V^''\. 

idinLi;  llu-  oidi- 
)licv,  wliieh  \]> 
clever  nuMi  >il 
)kl  smile  al  llu- 
imply  I'.ulc  In,-. 
rom  N'ers.tilK-. 
roved  ot  'ly  thi 
justified  eveiv 
nipany. 

by  the  powoi- 
ti)  exercise  the 
;c  of  vi.ulu  and 
s  contnined  ihr 
rand  Company, 
true  inlere>ts  ot 
to  the  lieixl  of 
iurrounded  him, 
upon  the  trade 


COU.Nr    |t|',    l.\    (.  Al.lSStlNll.KK 


i  t 


iiill.x"  CO 

Inicndan 
iinp()\'cri 
prop'iunc 
holdly  at 
[)i()i)o.sed 
.silver  to 
Fiiince.  ii 
France  it 

The  di 
iened  in 
men  opp 
iiniiei;ili\- 
in  lliu  is: 
i.uuly  s;i] 
worthless 
tiie  miser 
>ubjugati( 

Tiic  ]iil 
ihcy  WL-re 
'MUwj^  \v( 
iiir  iis  adj 
;i  licai'inf:^ 
ii;u-c  it  pc 
and  incre 
Fraiirt",  w 
.s\valk)\\  in; 

didl,  did' 
')f  die  Ion 
in  the  len, 

'ii.-e, 

The  bn 
^ri\t;ir\- 
'diich  con 
'■■xcellenc) 
■iie  Count 
•>ii(l  a  (  hai 
'lieni  up 
:lieni  over 
^'-in"'i-^''  ai 


Till-.     liKOAl),     IU.A(   k     (i.\ri:\VAV    ()!•     A     LIK. 


403 


,kin:'  l'>i   livrcs,  and  nuiskrat  skins  for  sous.      Tliese  jiapcr 

hill.-,/"  continued  he,  "  liad  been  tried  on  a  small  scale  by  the 

InicMidant   Hoquart,  and  on   a  small   scale  had  robbed  and 

m 

pn 

hiildlv  at  the  Intendant, 

pi 


p()\erished  the  Colony.      If  this  new  Mississippi  scheme 
)p(iunded  by  new  Laws,"  —  and  here   La  C'orne  glanced 


onus 


is  to  be  enforced  on  tlie  scale 
ed,  there  will  not  be  left  in  the  ("olouy  one  jiiece  of 
silver  to  rub  against  another.  It  will  totally  beggar  New 
France,  and  may  in  the  end  bankrupt  the  royal  treasury  of 
liance  itself  if  called  on  to  redeem  them.'" 

The  discussion  rolled  on  for  an  hour.  The  Count  lis- 
kikil  in  silent  apjirobalion  to  the  arguments  of  the  gentle- 
men opposing   the   measure,    l)ut    he    had    receised    private 


ipcra 


li\e  instructions  from  the  Kinji  to  aid  the   Intendant 


)f  tl 


111  llic  issue  01   the   new  paper   moiie}' 


The  Count  reluc 


untly  sanctioned  a  decree  which  filled  New  France  with 
worthless  assignats,  the  non-redemption  of  which  comj^leted 
lur  niiserv  of  the  Colon\-  and  aided  materiallv  in  its  final 
-iihiugation  by  the  luigiish. 

riiC  jiile  of  papers  ujion  the  table  gradually  diminished  as 
iht.'\  were  opened  and  disposed  of.  The  Council  itself  was 
ilclling  wearv  of  a  long  sitting,  aiid  showed  an  evident  wish 
for  its  adjournment.  The  geniiemen  of  the  law  did  not  get 
.1  h.caring  of  their  case  that  dav,  but  were  well  content  to 
hue  it  postponed.  I^ecause  a  postponement  meant  new  fees 
.I'lul  increased  costs  for  their  clients.  'Hie  lawyers  of  ( )ld 
France,  whom  Lal'"ontaine  depicts  in  his  lively  fable  as 
allowing  the  oyster  and  handing  to  each  litigant  an  empt\' 
ii'll.  did  not  differ  in  any  essential  point  from  their  brothers 
ilu;  long  rol)e  in  Xew  l''rance,  and  differed  nothing  at  all 
the  length  of  neir  bills  and  the  sharpness  of  their  prac- 
e, 

The  breaking   u])  of   the    Council    was    deferred    by    the 
I  ny  opening  a  package  sealed  with  the  i()\al  seal.  aiK 


s\\ 


tlCi 


which  contained  other  sealed  i:)apeis  marked  s/^rr/it/  for  His 
KNcellency  the  Clovernor.  The  Secretary  handed  them  to 
'liie  Count,  who  read  o\'er  the  contents  with  dee|)  interest 
'>ii(l  a  (hanging  countenance.  He  laid  them  down  and  took 
■'hmi  up  again,  perused  them  a  second  lime,  and  passed 
'liem  ()\ci'  to  the  Intendant.  who  read  them  with  a  start  of 
^^irpri.^j  and  a  sudden  frown  on  his  tlark  eyebrows.      Hut  he 


404 


THK    fiOLDEN    DOG. 


instantly  suppressed  it,  bitiiiii  his  netiier  lij),  howevc,  with 
anger  which  he  could  not  wholly  conceal. 

He  pushed  the  papers  back  to  the  ' 'ount  with  a  non- 
chalant air,  as  of  a  man  who  hail  cjuite  made  up  his  niind 
about  them,  saying  in  a  careless  manner, 

"The  commands  of  Madame  la  .\[ar(]uise  de  roinp;i(l(iiii 
shall  be  complied  with,"  said  he.  "1  nill  order  strict  staidi 
to  be  made  for  the  missing  demoiselle,  who,  I  suspect,  will 
be  found  in  some  camp  or  fort,  sharing  the  C(juch  of  somt- 
lively  fellow  who  has  won  fa\'or  in  her  bright  eyes." 

IHgot  saw  danger  in  these  despatciies,  and  in  the  look  u\ 
the  (Governor,  who  would  be  sure  to  exercise  the  utniosi  dili 
gence  in  carrying  out  the  connnands  of  the  court  in  ihis 
matter. 

I)ig()t  for  a  few  moments  seemed  lost  in  reilectimi.  11; 
looked  round  the  table,  and.  seeing  many  eyes  fixed  u])i»n 
him,  spoke  boldly,  almost  with  a  tone  of  defiance. 

"  Fray  explain  to  the  councillors  the  nature  of  thi^ 
despatch,  your  F-xcellency!  "'  said  he  to  the  Count.  '•  W'lia; 
it  contains  is  not  surprising  to  any  one  who  knows  the  ficklr 
sex,  and  no  gentleman  can  avoid  feeling  for  the  noble  l!ari)ii 
de  St.  Castin  1  " 

"  And  for  his  daughter,  too,  Chevalier !  "   replied  the  (]^>\ 
ernor.     "It  is  onlv  through  their  virtues  that  such  woinm 
are  lost.      Ikit  it  is  the  strangest  tale  I  have  heard  in  \c\v 
l""rance  !  " 

The  gentlemen  seated  at  the  table  looked  at  the  (lovcinn: 
in  some  surprise.  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  hearing  the  name  m 
the  IJaron  de  St.  Castin,  exclaimed,  "What,  in  Cod's  naiiu, 
your  Kxcellency,  what  is  there  in  that  despatch  alTectiiiL; 
my  old  friend  and  comj^anion  in  arms,  ihv,  ikiron  de  St. 
Castin  ?  " 

"  I  had  better  explain,"  replied  the  Count  ;  "  it  is  no  seen; 
in  r'rance,  and  will  not  long  be  a  secret  here. 

"Tills  letter,  gentlemen."  (Mintinued  he,  addressinu;  thr 
councillors,  and  holding  it  open  in  his  hand,  "is  a  patluiii 
appeal  from  the  ilaron  de  St.  Castin,  whom  you  all  know. 
urging  me  by  every  consideration  of  friendshij),  honor,  aiit! 
public  duty,  to  aid  in  finding  his  daughter,  (aroHne  (k 
St.  Castin,  who  has  been  abducted  from  her  home  in  Acadia, 
and  who,  after  a  long  and  \ain  search  for  her  by  lur  fathn 


Till':    IJROAI),     ni.ACK    CA'ri'.WAV    OI"     A     I.IK 


405 


however,  with 


"it  IS  no  si'cvi 


in  l'r;uice,  where  it  was  thought  she  might  have  gone,  has 
i,ecn  traced  to  this  Cohjny,  where  it  is  said  she  is  hving  con- 
cealed under  some  strange  alias  or  low  disguise. 

'•The  other  despatch,"  c(mtinued  the  Governor,  "is  from 
•he  Marc|uise  de  Pompadour,  attirming  the  same  thing,  and 
ajniinanding  the  most  rigorous  search  t(;  be  made  for 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Castin.  In  language  hardly  Oliicial, 
;he  ^hu■quise  threatens  to  make  stockfish,  that  is  her  phrase, 
of  whosoever  has  had  a  hand  in  either  the  abduction  or  the 
iDiicealment  of  the  missing  lady." 

The  attention  of  everv  gentleman  at  the  table  was  roused 
liv  the  words  of  the  Count,  liut  La  Corne  St.  Luc  could 
iKii  rei)ress  his  feelings.  Me  sprang  u|).  striking  the  table 
wiih  the  palm  of  his  hand  until  it  sounded  like  the  shot  of  a 
peU'onel. 

"  l!y  St.  Christ(jpher  the  Strong!"  exclaimed  he,  "■  I  would 
< heeifuUy  have  lost  a  Yunh  rather  than  heard  such  a  tale  told 
by  my  dear  old  friend  and  comrade,  about  that  angelic  child 
111  his,  whom  I  have  carried  in  my  arms  like  a  lamb  of  Ciod 
many  and  many  a  time  ! 

"  Vou  know,  gentlemen,  what  befell  her  !"  The  old  soldier 
luikcd  as  if  he  could  annihilate  the  Intendant  with  the 
lij;hlning  of  his  eyes.  "  1  atlirm  and  will  maintain  that  no 
Slim  in  heaven  was  holier  in  her  purity  than  she  was  in  her 
fall!  Chevalier  l)igot,  it  is  for  you  to  answer  these 
despatches  !  This  is  your  work  !  If  Caroline  de  St.  Castin 
l)e  lost,  you  know  where  to  fmd  her  !  " 

l!i,i;()t  started  up  in  a  rage  mingled  with  fear,  not  of  La 
(nine  St.  Luc,  but  lest  the  secret  of  Caroline's  concealment 
ai  lieaumanoir  should  become  known.  The  furious  letter  of 
l-i  Pompadour  rejiressed  the  prompting  of  his  audacious 
spirit  to  acknowledge  the  d(tcd  openly  and  tlefy  the  con- 
M'(|ucnces,  'is  he  would  ha\'e  tlone  at  any  less  price  than  the 
li»s  of  the  favor  of  his  powerful  and  jealous  |)atroness. 

The  broad,  black  gateway  of  a  lie  stooil  open  to  receive 
liiin,  and  angry  as  he  was  at  the  words  of  St.  Luc,  IJigot 
took  refuge  in  it       and  lied. 

"Chesalier  La  Corne!"  said  he.  v,  ith  a  tremenilous  effort 
;U  self-control.  "  1  do  not  afiect  to  misundii stand  your 
\vi)iils.  and  in  time  and  place  will  make  you  account  for 
ilieiii  !  bill  1  will  say,  for  tlu'  contentment  of  His  L.\cellency 


406 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


and  of  the  other  gentlemen  at  the  council-tal)le,  ihni  what- 
ever in  times  past  have  been  my  relations  with  the  dau^hifr 
of  the  llaron  de  St.  Castin.  and  I  do  not  deny  haxin^-  shown 
her  many  courtesies,  her  abduction  was  not  my  work,  and  il 
she  be  lost,  I  do  not  know  where  to  tind  her  !  "' 

"  Upon  your  word  as  a  gentleman,''  interrogated  the  dov- 
ernor,  "  will  you  declare  you  know  not  where  she  is  to  l)f 
found  ? " 

''  Upon  my  word  as  a  gentleman  ! ''  The  Intendant's  faci; 
was  suffused  with  passion.  "  \'ou  have  no  right  to  ask  thai! 
Neither  shall  you,  Count  de  La  (ialissoniere  I  llui  1  will 
myself  answer  the  despatch  of  Madame  la  Maiijiiisc  de 
Pompadour  !  1  know  no  more,  perhaps  less,  than  yourself 
or  the  Chevalier  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  where  to  look  for  [\w 
daughter  of  the  liaron  de  vSt.  Castin  ;  and  I  j^roclaim  here 
that  I  am  readv  to  cross  swords  with  the  first  irentleiuan  whn 
shall  dare  breathe  a  syllable  of  doubt  against  the  word  of 
l*'ranrois  lUgot  !  " 

Varin  and  Penisault  exchanged  a  rapid  glance,  partly  oi 
doubt,  pardy  of  surprise.  They  knew  well,  for  bigot  had 
not  concealed  from  his  intimate  associates  the  fact  that  a 
strange  lady,  whose  name  they  had  not  heard,  was  li\  in^  in 
the  secret  chambers  of  the  CJhateau  of  Beaumanoir.  Ili-nt 
ne\'er  told  any  who  she  was  or  whence  she  came.  Whatever 
suspicion  they  might  entertain  in  their  own  mind.s,  thc\-  were 
too  wary  to  express  it.  ( )n  the  contrary,  Varin.  e\er  more 
ready  with  a  lie  than  Pigot,  confirmed  with  a  loud  oath  the 
statement  of  the  Intendant. 

La  Corne  St.  Luc  looked  like  a  baflled  lion  as  Rigaud 
de  Vaudreuil,  with  the  familiarity  of  an  old  friend,  laid  ids 
hand  over  his  mouth,  and  would  not  let  him  speak.  Ki^aiid 
feared  the  coming  challenge,  and  whispered  audibl}  in  die 
ear  of  St.  Luc,  — 

"Count   a    hundred  before  you   sjieak.   La   Cornel 
Intendant  is  to  l)e  taken  on  his  word  just   at   present 
any  other  gentleman  !      l*'ight  for  fact,   not  for  Vducy 
prudent,    La  Corne!    we   know  nothing   to  the  coiUi. 
what  I^igot  swears  to  !  " 

*'  But  I  doubt  much  to  the  contrary,  Rigaud ! "  replied 
La  Corne,  with  accent  of  scorn  and  incredulity. 

'I'he  old  soldier  chafed  hard  umler  the  bit,  but  lii-  siispi- 


1  lie 

like 

lie 

V  of 


THK    r.KOAl),    BLACK    CAT i:\VAV    C)l'    A     MIC. 


407 


ciuiLs  were  nol  facts.  He  felt  that  he  had  no  solid  grounds 
;;pon  which  to  accuse  the  Intendant  in  the  special  matter 
referred  to  in  the  letters.  He  was,  moreover,  although  hot 
■a  temperament,  soon  master  of  himself,  and  used  to  the 
iuudcst  discipline  of  self-control. 

■  I  was,  perhaps,  over  hasty,  Rigaud  !  "  replied  La  Corne 
M.  Luc,  recovering  his  composure ;  but  when  I  think  of 
liigot  in  the  past,  how  can  1  but  mistrust  him  in  the  present? 
However,  be  the  girl  above  ground  or  under  ground,  I  will, 
Nr  /)/(•//,  not  leave  a  stone  unturned  in  New  j''rance  until  1 
lind  the  lost  child  of  my  old  friend  !  La  Corne  St.  Luc 
plt'diics  himself  to  that,  and  he  never  broke  his  word  !  " 

lie  sjDoke  the  last  words  audibly,  and  looked  hard  at  the 
Inteiulant.  Higot  cursed  him  twenty  times  over  between  his 
leelh.  for  he  knew  La  Corne's  indomitable  energy  and  sagac- 
iiy.  that  was  never  at  fault  in  linding  or  forcing  a  way  to 
whatever  he  was  in  search  of.  It  would  not  be  long  before 
he  would  discover  the  presence  of  a  strange  lady  at  Beau- 
manoir,  tho'iglit  JJigot,  and  just  as  certain  would  he  be  to 
nnd  out  t'^at  she  was  the  lost  daughter  of  the  IJaron  de  St. 
I'aslin. 

riiL'  good  Bishop  rose  up  when  the  dispute  waxed  warm- 
i>l  hciween  the  Litendant  and  La  ("orne  St.  Luc.  His 
heart  was  eager  to  allay  the  strife  ;  but  his  shrewd  knowl- 
al^^c  of  human  nature,  and  manifold  experience  of  human 
quarrels,  taught  him  that  between  two  such  men  the  inter- 
lession  of  a  priest  would  not,  at  that  moment,  be  of  any 
uail.  Their  own  notions  of  honor  and  self-respect  would 
ihiiiL'  he  able  to  restrain  them  from  rushing  into  unseemly 
t.\cos>L's  of  language  and  act ;  5^0  the  good  I)ishop  stood 
udi  folded  arms  looking  on,  and  silently  praying  for  an 
"pporuinity  to  remind  them  of  the  seventh  holy  beatitude. 
"  ln\}H pdcifici !  " 

IJiiiot  felt  acutely  the  dilTiculty  of  the  position  he  had 
iiecn  placed  in  by  the  act  of  T-a  Pompadour,  in  sending  her 
despatch  to  the  Governor  instead  of  to  himself.  "Why  had 
^he  done  that  .''  "  said  he  savagely  to  himself.  "  I  Lid  she 
^ibpccted  him  ? " 

Hiiiot  could  not  but  conclude  that  La  Pompadour  sus- 
peettd  him  in  this  matter.  He  saw  clearly  that  she  would 
ii"l  trust  the  search  after  this  girl  to  him,  because  she  knew 


4o8 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


that  Caroline  de  St.  (,'astin  had  formerly  drawn  aside  hi^ 
heart,  and  that  he  would  have  married  her  but  f(,r  the 
interference  of  the  royal  mistress.  Whatever  inii^in  have 
been  done  before  in  the  way  of  sending  Caroline  hack  to 
Acadia,  it  could  not  be  done  now,  after  he  had  boUllv  lied 
before  the  Covernor  and  the  honorable  Council. 

One  thing  seemed  absolutely  necessary,  however.  'i"ht.' 
presence  of  Caroline  at  l>eauman()ir  must  be  kept  secret  at 
all  hazards,  until-  -until, —  and  even  IJigot,  foroiuc  \\a> 
ashamed  of  the  thoughts  which  rushed  into  his  mind.  until 
he  could  send  her  far  into  the  wilderness,  among  savage 
tribes,  to  remain  there  until  the  search  for  her  was  over  ami 
the  affair  forgotten, 

This  was  his  first  thought.  liut  to  send  her  awav  into 
the  wilderness  was  not  easy.  A  matter  which  in  I'rance 
would  excite  the  gossip  and  curiosity  of  a  league  or  two  it 
neighborhood  would  be  carried  on  the  tongues  of  Indians 
and  voyageurs  in  the  wilds  of  North  America  for  thousands 
of  miles.  To  send  her  away  without  discovery  seemed 
difficult.  To  retain  her  at  lieaumanoir  in  face  of  the  search 
which  he  knew  would  be  made  by  the  Governor  and  the 
indomitable  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  was  impossible.  The  (|uan 
dary  (jppressed  him.  He  saw  no  escape  from  the  dilemma, 
but,  to  the  credit  of  IJigot  be  it  said,  that  not  for  a  moment 
did  he  entertain  a  thought  of  doing  injury  to  the  haple^^ 
Caroline,  or  of  taking  advantage  of  her  lonely  condition  lu 
add  to  her  distress,  merely  to  save  himself. 

He  fell  into  a  train  of  sober  reflections  unusual  to  him  at 
any  time,  and  scarcely  paid  any  attention  to  the  discussion 
of  affairs  at  the  council-table  for  the  rest  of  the  sitting.  He 
ro.se  hastily  at  last,  despairing  to  find  any  outlet  ot  cscaiie 
from  the  difficulties  which  surrounded  him  in  this  imiiK  ky 
affair. 

With  His  pAcellency's  consent,  he  said,  they  would 
do  no  more  business  that  day.  He  was  tired,  and  would 
rise.  Dinner  was  ready  at  the  Palace,  where  he  had  some 
wine  of  the  golden  plant  of  Ay- Ay,  which  he  would  ntatch 
against  the  be.st  in  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  if  His  I'Accllency 
and  the  other  gentlemen  would  honor  hin\  with  their  omi- 
pany. 

The  Council,  out  of  respect  to  the  Intendant,  rose  at  once. 


TIIK    IJKOAl),    I'.LACK    CATEWAY    Ol'     A    LIE. 


409 


it,  rose  at  once. 


The  (Icsjjatches  were  shoved  back  to  the  secretaries,  and 
for  the  present  forgotten  in  a  buzz  of  lively  conversa- 
tion, in  which  no  man  shone  to  greater  advantage  than 
Billot. 

••  1 1  is  but  a  fast-day,  your  Reverence,  "  said  he,  accost- 
irj4  the  Abbe  Piquot,  "  but  if  you  will  come  and  say  grace 
iiver  my  graceless  table,  1  will  take  it  kindly  of  you.  You 
owe  me  a  visit,  you  know,  and  I  owe  you  thanks  fc  the  way 
in  which  you  looked  reproof,  without  speaking  it,  upon  my 
dispute  with  the  Chevalier  I^a  Corne.  U  was  better  than 
\\ij\\\>.  and  showed  that  you  know  the  world  we  live  in  as  well 
as  the  world  you  teach  us  to  live  for  hereafter." 

The  Abbe  was  charmed  with  the  affability  of  Bigot,  and 
nourishing  some  hope  of  enlisting  hiin  heartily  in  behalf  of 
jiis  favorite  scheme  of  Indian  policy,  left  the  Castle  in  his 
company.  'I'he  Intendant  also  invited  the  Procureur  du 
l\oi  aiul  the  other  gentlemen  of  the  law,  who  found  it  both 
politic,  profitable,  and  pleasant  to  dine  at  the  bountiful  and 
splendid  table  of  the  Palace. 

The  Governor,  with  three  or  four  most  intimate  friends, 
the  ISishop,  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  Rigaud  de  Yaudreuil.  and  the 
( hevalier  de  Heauharnais,  remained  in  the  room,  conversing 
c.unestly  together  on  the  affair  of  Caroline  de  St.  Castin. 
which  awoke  in  all  of  them  a  feeling  of  deepest  pity  for  the 
yiiiMig  lady,  and  of  sympathy  for  the  distress  of  her  father. 
Ihey  were  lost  in  conjectures  as  to  the  quarter  in  w'hich  a 
>e;irch  for  her  might  be  successful. 

"There  is  not  a  fort,  camp,  house,  or  wigwam,  there  is 
nut  a  hole  or  hollow  tree  in  New  France  where  that  poor 
l);ukon-hearted  girl  may  have  taken  refuge,  or  been  hid  by 
hrr  seducer,  but  I  will  tind  her  out,"  exclaimed  La  ('orne 
Si,  Luc.  "  Poor  girl!  poor  hapless  girl!  How  can  1  blame 
iier?  Like  Magdalene,  if  she  sinned  mucii,  it  was  because 
^he  loved  much,  and  cursed  be  either  man  or  woman  who 
''ill  cast  a  stone  at  her  !  " 

'"La  Corne,"  replied  the  (lOvernor,  "the  spirit  of  chivalry 
will  not  wholly  pass  away  while  you  remain  to  teach  by  your 
fcxample  the  duty  of  brave  men  to  fair  women.  Stay  and 
(line  with  me,  and  we  will  consider  this  matter  thoroui^hlv ! 
•Viy,  1  will  not  have  an  excuse  to-day.  My  old  friend,  Peter 
K;ilin,  will  dine  with  us  too;  he  is  a  philosopher  as  perfectly 


410 


THH    tiOLDKN     DUd. 


as  you  are  a  soldier !  So  stay,  and  \vc  will  have  somcthini; 
better  than  tobacco-smoke  to  our  wine  to-day  !  " 

"The  tobacco-smoke  is  not  bad  either,  your  l\xce!lt"ii(.\  ;" 
replied  La  Corne,  who  was  an  inveterate  smoker.  ••]  like 
your  Swedish  friend.  He  cracks  nuts  of  wisdom  with  such 
a  grave  air  that  1  feel  like  a  boy  sitting  at  his  feet.  l;!.u1  id 
jiick  up  a  kernel  now  and  tlien.  My  practical  philosopliv  is 
scjmetimes  at  fault,  to  be  sure,  in  trying  to  tit  his  theories; 
but  1  feel  that  1  ought  to  believe  many  things  wiiich  1  dn 
not  understand." 

The  Count  took  his  arm  familiarly,  and,  followed  In  the 
other  gentlemen,  proceeded  to  the  dining-hall.  wlieiv  his 
table  was  spread  in  a  style  which,  if  less  luxurious  than  the 
Intendant's,  left  nothing  to  be  desired  by  guests  who  were 
content  with  plenty  of  good  cheer,  admirable  cooking,  adroit 
service,  and  perfect  hospitality. 


avc  somclhin;^ 


CHAPTKK    XXXVIl. 


ARRIVAL    nV    I'lKkkK    I'FIIMhKRT. 


DlN'Nl^K  at  tile  lahlc  of  the  Count  de  la  (ralissoniere 
was  not  a  dull  atlair  of  mere  eatinj;  and  drinkin<;. 
The  (-oiuersation  and  spri<i;iuliness  of  the  host  fed  the 
minds  of  his  <j;uests  as  generously  as  his  bread  strengthened 

[iheir  hearts,  or  his  wine,  in  the  I'salniist's  words,  made  their 
ikcs  to   shine.      Men    were    tliey,  every  one   of   tlieni    pos- 

Uc^scd  of  a  sound  mind  in  a  sound   l)odv ;  and  both  were 

I'lVell  feasted   at  this  hosjMtable  tablf. 

The  dishes  were  despatched  in  a  leisurely  and  orderly 
Manner,  as  became  men  who  knew  the  value  of  both  s(njl 
and  body,  and  sacrificed  neither   to  the  other.     When  the 

kludi  was   drawn,    and   the   wine-flasks    glittered    ruby   and 

kJdon  upon  the  polished  board,  the  old  butler  came  in, 
nearinL;  ujjon  a  tray  a  large  silver  box  of  tobacco,  with  pipes 
iiid  st()i)j)ers  and  a  wax  candle  burning,  ready  to  light 
liicin.  as  then  the  fashion  was  in  companies  conn)osed 
ixehisively  of  gentlemen.  He  placed  the  materials  for 
smoking  upon  the  table  as  reverently  as  a  priest  places  his 
airi'tta  upon  the  altar,  —  for  the  old  butler  did  himself  dearly 
love  ilic  Indian  weed,  and  delighted  to  smell  the  perfume  of 
M>  it  rose  in  clouds  over  his  master's  table. 
"  riiis  is  a  bachelors'  baiKjuet,  gentlemen,"  said  the  (lov- 

I  •rnor.  tilling  a  pipe  to  the  brim.  "  We  will  take  fair  advantage 
''!llie  absence  of  ladies  to-day,  and  offer  incense  to  the  gofjd 
M.uiiiou  who  first  gave  tobacco  for  the  solace  of  mankind." 

riic  gentlemen  were  all,  as  it  chanced,  honest  smokers. 
•Mch  one  took  a  pipe  fnjin  the  stand  and  followed  the 
•'"vcrnor's  example,  except  I'cter  Kalm,  who,  more  jihilo- 
^oiihically,  carried  his  pipe  with  him  -    a  huge  meerschaum, 

|cloiidt'd  like  a  sunset  on  the  lialtic.  He  tilled  it  delil)erately 
"til  tnhacco,  pressed   it  down   with  his  finger  and  thumb, 

l'"d  leaning  back  in  his  easy  chair  after  lighting  it,  began  to 

4n 


412 


THE  GOLDEN  DUG. 


blow  such  a  cloud  as  the  portly  liurgoniaster  of  Stockholm i 
might  have  envied  on  a  grand  council  night  in  the  oidj 
Raadhus  of  the  city  of  the  Goths. 

'J'hey  were   a  goodly  group   of   men,  whose   frank,  lovalj 
eyes  looked  openly  at  each  other  across  the  hospitable  talik. 
None  of  them  but  had  travelled  fartlier  than  IMysscs.  and,! 
like  him,  had  seen  strange  cities  and  observed  manv  mindsi 
of  men,  and  was  as  deeply  read  in  the  book  of  human  e.\])c- 
rience  as  ever  the  craflv  king  of  Ithaca. 

The   event   of    the  afternoon    -the  reading  of  the  roval] 
despatches     -had  somewhat  dashed  the  spirits  of  the  coim- 
cillor.s,  for  they  saw  clearly  the  drift  of  events  which  w.isl 
sweeping  New  France  out  of  the  lap  of  her  mother  couiurvj 
unless  her  policy  were  totally  changed  and  the  hour  oi  need 
brought  fortii  a  man  capable  of  saving   France  herself  and 
her  faithful  and  imperilled  colonies. 

"Hark!"   exclaimed   the    liishop,    lifting    his    hand,  "thcj 
Angelus  is  ringing  froui  tower  and  belfry,  and  thousands  nf 
knees  are  bending  with  the  simplicity  of  little  children  in 
prayer,    without    one    thought    of    theology    or    pliijosoiihv.j 
ICvery  prayer  rising  from  a  sincere  lieart,  asking  pardon  f- 
the  past  and  grace  for  the  future,  is  heaicl  by  our  i'aihei  iii! 
heaven;  think  you  not  it  is  so,  Herr  Kalm?" 

The  sad  foreboding  of  colonists  like  La  Corne  St.  l-ncdidl 
not  i)revent  the  desperate  struggle  that  was  made  for  thej 
preservation  of    French   dominion    in   the   next   war.      bike 
brave  and  loyal  men,  they  did  their  duty  to  (iod  and  lluir 
country,  preferring  death  and  ruin  in  a  lost  cause  to  suncii- 
dering  the  tlag  which  was  the  svmbol  of  their  native  laiul, 
'I'jie  spirit,  if  not  the  words,  of  the  old  luiglish  lo}alist  wasiiij 
them  : 

"  For  loy.'ilty  is    lill  tin'  same, 

Wlu'tlier  it  will  or  lose  llie  game; 
True  as  tlu;  ilial  to  the  .sun, 

Although  it  he  not  shone  upon." 


New  France,  after  gathering  a  harvest  of  glory  snch  asj 
America  had  never  seen  reaped  before,  fell  at  last,  ihroimhj 
the  neglect  of  her  mother  countrv.  I'ul  she  dragged  downj 
the  nation  in  her  fall,  arid  l''rance  woidd  now  give  the  api'lel 
of  her  eye   lor  the  recovery,  never   l'>   ln',  oT  "the  ain^"'! 


AKRIVAI-    OF    PIKKKK    JMIILIIJKKT 


413 


;r  of  Slockholmj 
ijjht   in    the  old 


Dse  frank,  lovalj 
hospital )1l-  tahlr. 
m  Ulysses,  aiul.l 
/ed  many  inindsj 
of  human  e.\pi:-| 

ng   of  the  royal! 
"its  of  the  coun- 
■ents  which  w.i:,! 
mother  country, 
he  iiour  ol  need 
ince  herself  ami 

his  hand,  "tliej 
ncl  thousands  ui\ 
itlle  children  in! 
or  j)hilosophy. 
ikine^  pardon  f'TJ 
)y  our  Father  iii| 

orne  St.  laic  iiid 
IS  uuKJe  for  the 
lext  war.  lakol 
)  (iod  and  lluir| 
cause  to  suricn- 
eir  luitive  land. 
h  loyalist  was  inj 


)f  ii;lory  such  ;is| 
at  last.  Ihroiiuhl 
e  (1  rallied  downl 
w  ,i;-ivf  the  :\\)\)k\ 
n    "  I  he  ai  ri^ 


jnow"  which  La  I'ompadour  so  scornfully  abandoned  to  the 
En[;lish. 

These  considerations  lay  in  the  lap  of  the  future,  how- 
ever: they  troubled  not  the  present  time  and  company. 
[he  ij;lasses  were  again  replenished  with  wine  or  watered, 
;s  the  case  might  be,  lor  the  Count  de  la  Galissoniere  and 
Hon"  Kalm  kept  Horatian  time  and  measure,  drinking  only 
•jiree  cups  to  the  (Iraces,  while  La  Corne  St.  Luc  and  Ri- 
iMud  de  Vaudreuil  drank  nine  full  cups  to  the  Muses,  fear- 
iiiij  not  the  enemy  that  steals  away  men's  brains.  Their 
heads  were  hehneted  with  triple  brass,  and  'mpenetrable  to 
the  heaviest  blows  of  the  thyrsus  of  Uacchus.  They  drank 
with  impunity,  as  if  garlanded  with  parsley,  and  while  com- 
mending the  l)ishop,  who  would  drink  naught  save  pure 
vater,  they  rallied  gaily  (Claude  lleauharnais,  who  would  not 
drink  at  all. 

In  t'lv  midst  of  a  cheerful  concert  of  merriment,  the  door 
if  the  cabinet  opened,  and  the  servant  in  waiting  announced 
'he  entrance  of  Colonel  Philibert. 

All  rose  to  welcome  him.  IMerre  looked  anxious  and 
somewhat  discom]x>sed,  but  the  warn'i  grasp  of  the  hands  of 


M) 


manv  true  friends  made  h.im  glad  for  the  moment. 


•Why,  Pierre  !  "  exclaimed  the  Count,  "  1  hope  no  ill  wind 
lias  blown  you  to  the  city  so  tmexpectedly  !  You  are  hf;artily 
•velconie,  however,  and  we  will  call  every  wind  good  that 
i)lo\vs  our  friends  back  to  us  again." 

"It  is  a  cursed  wind  that  blows  me  back  to-day,"  replied 
I'hilihert,  sitting  down  with  an  air  of  disquiet. 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter,  Pierre?"  asked  the  Count. 
"Mv  honored  Lady  de  Tilly  and  her  lovely  niece,  are  they 

Aclf?  "" 

"Well,  your  Excellency,  but  sorely  troubled.  The  devil 
'i;is  tempted  Le  (iardeur  again,  and  he  lias  fallen.  He  is 
ick  to  the  city,  wild  as  a  savage  and  beyond  all  control." 
"(lood  Crod  !  it  will  break  his  sister's  heart,"  said  ti)e 
'lovernor,  sympathizingly.  "That  girl  would  give  her  life 
!"!  her  brother.  I  feel  for  her ;  I  feel  for  you,  too,  IMerre." 
I'liilihert  felt  the  tight  clasp  of  the  (Governor's  hand  as  he 
^;dd  this.  He  understood  well  its  meaning.  "  And  not  less 
d'J  I  pity  the  unhappy  youth  who  is  the  cause  of  such  grief 
to  his  friends,"  continued  he. 


414 


Tin.  (ior.Di'.x   nor,. 


"  Yes,  your  l',xcellcncy,  Lc  (larclcur  is  to  be  pitied,  ah  w^lji 
as  blamed.      lie  has  been  tried  and  tempted  beyond  liuinan 
strength." 

La  Corne  St.  Iaic  had  risen,  and  was  pacing  the  thnu  with 
impatient  strides.  "  Pierre  Thilibert !  "  exclaimed  lu-,  ••  whcicl 
is  the  poor  lad?  He  must  l)e  sought  for  and  s.Ufd  yci. 
What  demons  have  assailed  him  now.''  Was  it  the  seipint 
of  strong  drink,  that  bites  men  mad,  or  the  legion  of  liciuls; 
that  rattle  the  dice-box  in  their  ears?  Or  was  it  ilif  hisi 
teiiptation,  which  never  fails  when  all  else  has  been  iricd  in 
vain  -   a  woman  ? '' 

"It  was  all  three  coml)ined.  'l"he  Chevalier  de  IVmii  vis 
ited  Tilly  on  business  of  the  Intendant  in  reality,  I  siiv 
pect,  to  open  a  communication  with  I^e  (xardeur.  Im  j). 
brought  him  a  nvj^si-ge  from  a  lady  you  wot  of,  whicli  diow 
him  wild  with  excitement.  A  hundred  men  could  not  havr 
restrained  Le  Gardeur  after  that.  He  liecame  infaluativ! 
with  De  l?ean,  and  drank  and  gambled  all  night  and  all  dav 
with  him  at  the  village  inn,  threatening  aimihilatiou  Id  ail 
who  interfered  with  him.  To-day  h..-  suddenly  left  Tilly,  .iml 
has  come  with  !)e  I'ean  to  the  city." 

"  De  Pean  !  "  exclaimed  La  Corne,  "  the  spotted  snake  I  A 
lit  tool  for  the  Intendant's  lies  and  villainy  !  1  am  convinced 
he  went  not  on  his  own  errand  to  Tilly.  P)igot  is  at  tlir  Ixii- 
tom  of  this  foul  conspiracy  to  ruin  the  noblest  lad  in  tin 
Colony." 

"It  may  be,"  replied  Phililiert,  "but  the  Intendant  alone 
would  have  had  no  power  to  lure  him  back.  It  was  llu'  mes- 
sage of  that  artful  siren  wdiich  has  drawn  Le  Cardeur  de 
Repentigny  again  into  the  whirlpool  (jf  destruction." 

"Aye,  but  lUgot  set  her  on  him,  like  a  retriever,  to  \n\\vi 
back  the  game!"  replied  La  Corne,  fully  convinc^'d  of  the 
truth  of  his  opinion. 

"  It  may  be,"  answered  Philibert ;  "but  my  impression  i> 
that  she  has  inlluenced  the  Intendant,  rather  than  he  her, 
in  this  matter." 

The  Piishop  listened  with  warm  interest  to  the  account  of 
Lhilibert.      lie  looked  a  gentle  reproof,  but  did  not  utlei  i* 
at  La  ('orne  St.  laic  antl  Philibert,  for  tl.eir  outspoken  denun- 
ciation of  the  Intendant.      lie  knew       none  knew  hi'tlei 
how  deserved  it  was;  but  his  ecclesiastical  rank  plact'd  liini 


AKKI\.\r.    OV    I'lEKKK    IMIILinilKT. 


415 


,u  iIk'  apex  of  all  parties  in  the  Colony,  and  taught  him  13111 
lieiicc  in  expressinj^  or  heaiinj;  oi)inions  of  the  King's  repre- 
sentatives in  the  Colony. 

•' ]Jut  what  have  you  c1(jih\  Pierre  Fhilibert,"  asked  the 
Bishop,  "since  your  arrival  ?      Have  you  seen  Le  Gardeur  ?  " 

••\(».  my  I^ord ;  I  followed  him  and  the  Chevalier  to  the 
citv.  They  have  gone  to  the  Talace,  whither  I  went  and  got 
,ulinilta:ice  to  the  cabinet  of  the  Intendant.  He  received  nie 
in  his  politest  and  blandest  manner.  I  asked  an  interview 
with  Le  (iardeur.  iJigot  told  me  that  my  fri'-nd  unfortu- 
iKiteiy  at  that  moment  was  untit  to  be  seen,  and  had  refused 
himself  to  all  his  city  friends.  1  partly  believed  him,  for  1 
kard  the  voice  of  Le  (Jardeur  in  a  distant  room,  amiil  a 
lubhle  of  longaes  and  the  rattle  of  dice.  I  .sent  him  a  card 
v,iih  a  few  kind  words,  and  received  it  back  with  an  insult  - 
deep  and  damning  -  scrawled  upon  it.  It  was  not  written, 
lio\ve\er,  in  the  hand  of  Le  Gardeur,  although  signed  by  his 
name.  Read  that,  }'our  Ivxcellency,"  said  ;..,  '.iirowing  a 
card  to  the  Couiit.  "  I  will  not  repeat  the  foul  expressi{;ns 
1;  contains.  'I'ell  Pierre  I'hilibert  what  he  should  do  to  save 
Ills  honor  and  save  his  friend.  Poor,  wild,  infatuated  Le 
Gardeur  ne\er  wrote  that -■  never !  They  have  made  him 
M;,'n  his  name  to  he  knew  not  what." 

"And,  by  St.  Martin!"  exclaimed  La  Corne,  who  looked 
at  the  card,  ".some  of  them  shall  bite  dust  for  that!  As  for 
Le  (lardeur,  poor  l)oy,  o\ei"look  his  fault  l^it}"  him,  forgi'vc 
hill!.  He  is  not  so  much  to  blame,  Pierre,  as  those  ])lun- 
(leiing  thieves  of  the  l'"riponne,  who  sliall  lind  that  La 
( onic  St.  Luc's  sword  is  longer  l)y  half  an  ell  than  is  good 
for  some  of  their  stomachs  !  " 

"  i'orbear,  dear  friends,"  said  the  Dishop;  "it  is  not  the 
way  of  Christians  to  talk  thus." 

■' l!ut  it  is  the  wa}'  of  gentlemen!"  replied  I, a  Corne, 
iniliatie'Utly,  "and  I  always  Iiold  that  a  true  gi'tith  man  is  a 
true  Christian.  J5ut  you  do  your  dut\',  m)-  f.iud  i;I.du>;^,  in 
rtproxing  us,  and  I  honor  \'ou  for  it,  although  I  ma\'  Udt 
promise  obedience.  DaN'id  fought  a  duel  with  (loliath,  antl 
was  honored  1)V  God  and  man  for  it,  was  he  not?" 

"  Ihii  he  fought  it  not  in  his  own  cjuarrel.  La  Corne."  replied 
the  llishop  gently ;  "Goliath  liad  defied  the  armies  of  the  liv- 
iii^;  (Intl,  and  David  fought  for  his  king,  not  for  himself." 


4i6 


TFIE    GOLHEX    DOG. 


^'- Co/iji/cor  f  my  Lord  Bishop,  but  the  logic  of  the  heart 
is  often  truer  than  the  logic  of  the  head,  and  the  sword 
has  no  raisoii  d^cfre,  except  in  purging  the  world  of 
scoundrels." 

"  I  will  go  home  now;  I  will  see  your  FAcellency  again  on 
this  matter,"  said  Pierre,  rising  to  depart. 

"Do,  Pierre!  my  utmost  services  are  at  your  command," 
said  the  Governor,  as  the  guests  all  rose  too.  It  was  verv 
late. 

The  hour  of  departure  had  arrived;  the  company  all 
rose,  and  courteously  bidding  their  host  good-night,  pro 
ceeded  to  their  several  homes,  leaving  him  alone  with  his 
friend   Kalm. 

They  two  at  once  passed  into  a  little  museum  of 
minerals,  plants,  birds,  and  animals,  where  they  sat  down. 
eager  as  two  boy-students.  The  world,  its  l)altles,  and  ih 
politics  were  utterly  forgotten,  as  they  conversed  f.u-  inio 
the  night  and  examine'd,  with  the  delight  of  new  (lisc()\ercrs, 
the  beauty  and  variety  of  nature's  forms  that  exist  in  the 
New  World. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 


A    WII,1)    NIfJHT    INDOORS    AND    OUT. 


1^11  K  Chevalier  de  I'ean  had  been  but  too  successful  in 
his  errand  of  mischief  to  the  Manor  Hou.^e  of  Tilly. 

A  few  days  had  sufficed  for  this  accomplished  ambassador 
of  l!i,:j;ot  to  tempt  Le  Gardeur  to  his  ruin,  and  to  triumph  in 
his  fall. 

Upon  his  arrival  at  the  Seisjniory,  I)e  i'ean  had  chosen 
to  take  up  his  quarters  at  the  village  inn,  in  preference  to 
accepting  the  proffered  hospitality  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly, 
whom,  however,  he  had  frequently  to  see,  having  been 
craftily  commissioned  by  IJigot  with  the  settlement  of  some 
important  matters  of  business  relating  to  her  Seigniory, 
as  a  pretext  to  visit  the  Manor  House  and  linger  in  the 
vill;\;^e  long  enough  to  renew  his  old  familiarity  with  Le 
Gardeur. 

The  visits  of  De  Pean  to  the  Manor  House  were  politely 
kit  not  cordially  received.  It  was  only  by  reason  of  the 
ImsiiK'Ss  he  came  u])on  that  he  was  received  at  all.  Never- 
ihek'ss  he  paid  his  court  to  the  ladies  of  the  Manor,  as  a 
^enikinan  anxious  to  remove  their  prejudices  and  win  their 
•;'m[  opinion. 

lie  once,  and  but  once,  essayed  to  approach  Amelia  with 
sMlliintry,  a  hair-breadth  only  beyond  the  rigid  boundary- 
inu  of  ordinary  politeness,  when  he  received  a  repulse  so 
luick,  so  unspoken  and  invisible,  tiiat  he  could  not  tell  in 
«h;U  ii  consisted,  yet  he  felt  it  like  a  sudden  paralysis  of 
liis  powers  of  i)leasing.  He  cared  not  again  to  encounter 
•lie  ipiick  glance  of  contempt  and  aversion  which  for  an 
n.stuni  Hashed  in  the  eyes  of  Amelie  when  she  caught  the 
'i'iU  of  his  untimely  admiration. 

A  woman  is  never  so  Rhadamanthean  in  her  justice,  and 
^"  quick    in    her    execution    of    it,   as   when    she    is    proud 


iiiil   liaj)py    in    her    love    for    another    man 

417 


she    is    then 


4i8 


THE    GOLDEN    DOC. 


indignant   at  every   suggestion   implying   any   doubt  of  ihf 
strength,  purity,  and  alxsoluteness  of  her  devotion. 

I)e  Fean  ground  his  teeth  in  silent  wrath  at  this  quitt 
but  unequivocal  repulse,  and  vowed  a  bitter  vow  that 
Ame'lie  should  ere  long  repent  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  for 
the  wound  inHicted  upon  his  vanity  and  still  more  upon 
his  cupidity. 

One  of  the  day-dreams  of  his  fancy  was  broken,  never 
to  return.  The  immense  fortune  and  high  rank  of  the 
young  Chatelaine  de  Repentigny  had  excited  the  cujiiditv 
of  De  Pean  for  some  time,  and  although  the  V()lui)tu(ius 
bcautv  of  Aniielique  fastened  his  eves,  he  would  \\illini:lv 
have  sacrificed  her  for  the  reversion  of  the  lordsiiip;,  oi 
Tilly  and  Repentigny. 

De  Pean's  soul  was  too  small  to  bear  with  equanimity 
the  annihilation  of  his  cherished  hopes.  As  he  looked 
down  upon  his  white  hands,  his  delicate  feet,  and  irre- 
proachable dress  and  manner,  he  seemed  not  to  tonipre- 
hend  that  a  true  woman  like  Amelie  cares  nothinij;  for 
these  things  in  comparison  with  a  manly  nature  thai  ^eek^ 
a  woman  for  her  own  sake  by  lo\e,  and  in  love,  and  nut 
by  the  accessories  of  wealth  and  position.  For  such  a  one 
she  would  go  barefoot  if  need  were,  while  golden  slipiier.s 
would  not  tempt  her  to  walk  with  the  other. 

Amelie's  beau-ideal  of  manhood  was  embodied  in  I'ierre 
Philibert,  and  the  greatest  king  in  Christendom  wouhl  have 
wooed  in  vain  at  her  feel,  much  less  an  enqjty  pretender 
like  the  Chevalier  de  Pean. 

"  I  would  not  ha\e  treated  any  gentleman  so  rudely,' 
said  Amelie  in  confidence  to  Meloise  de  Lotbiniere  when 
they  had  retired  to  the  privacy  of  their  l)edchaml)cr.  "Noi 
woman  is  justified  in  showing  scorn  of  any  man's  love,  it 
it  be  honest  and  true;  but  the  Chevalier  de  Pean  is  false  I'l! 
the  heart's  core,  and  his  presumption  woke  such  an  a\t,r>i"n 
in  my  heart,  that  I  fear  my  eyes  showed  less  than  ordinary 
politeness  to  his  unexpected  advances." 

"  Vou   were   too   gentle,   not   too   harsh,   Ame'lie."  replird 
Heloise,    with    her    arm    round   her    friend.     "Had    I    Ikoi 
the  object  of  his  hateful  addresses,  1  should  have  icpaid  him 
in   his  own   false   coin  :    I    would    ha\'e    led    him   on   to  tlici 
brink  of   the   preciiMce  of   a  confession    and   an   oiler,  and 


A    WILD    NIGHT    INDOORS    x\ND    OUT. 


419 


then  I  would  have  dropped  him  as  one  drcjps  ii  stone  into 
the  deep  pool  of  the  ( "liaudiere." 

"  N'ou  were  always  more  hold  than  I,  Heloise ;  I  could 
not  do  that  for  the  world,"  replied  Amt'lie.  "  I  would  not 
\villinii;ly  offend  even  the  C'hevalier  de  I'ean.  Moreoxer,  I 
tear  him,  and  I  need  not  tell  you  why,  darlini^;.  That  man 
possesses  a  i)ower  over  my  dear  brother  that  makes  me 
•reinhle,  and  in  my  anxiety  for  Le  (iardeur  I  may  have 
liniicred,  as  I  did  yesterday,  too  \o\v^  in  the  parlor  when 
in  c(jni[rany  with  the  C'hevalier  de  I'ean,  who,  mistaking;  my 
iiioti\e,  may  ha\e  supposed  thr^t  I  hated  not  his  presence  so 
iiuicli  as  I  truly  did  ! " 

"Amc'he,  your  fears  are  my  own!"  exclaimed  Heloise, 
pressinfT  Amelie  to  her  side.  '*  I  must,  I  will  tell  you.  O 
Invcd  sister  of  mine, -- let  me  call  you  so  !  -  to  you  alone  I 
dare  acknowledge  my  hojieless  love  for  Le  (Iardeur,  and  my 
deep  and  ahidini;  interest  in  his  welfare." 

•'Nay,  do  not  say  hopeless,  Heloise!"  replied  Amelie, 
ki^Miig  her  fondly.  '*  I.e  (iardeur  is  not  insensible  to  your 
i)cauty  and  goodness.  He  is  too  like  myself  not  to  love 
you." 

"Alas,  Amelie!  I  know  it  is  all  in  vain.  I  have  neither 
beauty  nor  other  attractions  in  his  eyes.  He  left  me  yester- 
day to  converse  with  the  C'hevalier  de  Pean  on  the  subject 
of  Angelique  des  Meloises,  and  I  saw,  by  the  agitation  of  his 
manner,  the  flush  upon  his  cheek,  and  the  eagerness  of  his 
'lucstioning,  that  he  cared  more  for  Angeliciue,  notwithstand- 
ing her  reported  engagement  with  the  Intendant,  than  he  did 
tur  a  thousand  Heloises  de  I.otbinicre  !  " 

Thi'  poor  girl,  o\'er|)owered  by  the  recollection,  hid  her 
lacc  upon  tiie  shoulder  of  Amelie,  antl  sobbed  as  if  her  very 
heart  were  breaking,  —  as  in  truth  it  was. 

Aniclie,  so  happy  and  seciue  in  her  own  affection,  com- 
tortecl  lleloise  with  her  tears  and  caresses,  but  it  was  (mi1\' 
i'V  i)icturing  in  her  imagination  her  own  state,  should  she  be 
M)  hapless  as  to  lose  the  love  of  Pierre  iMiilibert,  that  she 
ciJuKl  realize  the  depth  of  misery  and  aband(;nmenl  which 
nlled  tile  bosom  of  her  fair  companion. 

She  was,  moreover,  struck  to  the  heart  l)y  the  words  of 
lleloise  regarding  the  eagerness  of  her  brother  to  get  word 
'it  Angelicjue.     "  The  C  "he\ali<,i' de  " 


'can  might 


liave  broi 


It 


420 


TFIR    r.OLDKN    DOG. 


a  message,  perhaps  a  love-token  from  Angelique  to  I,c  Car- 
deur  to  draw  him  back  to  the  city,"  thought  she.  If  so,  sht- 
felt  instinctively  that  all  their  efforts  to  redeem  him  would 
be  in  vain,  and  that  neither  sister's  love  nor  Pierre's  rcuKjn- 
strances  would  avail  to  prevent  his  return.  He  was  the  slave 
of  the  lamp  and  Angel i que  its  possessor. 

'•  Heaven  forbid,  Heloise  ! "  she  said  faintly ;  "  Le  ('.aideui 
is  lost  if  he  return  to  the  city  now!  Twice  lost  lost  .i,>  a 
gentleman,  lost  as  the  kner  of  a  woman  who  cares  iny  lum 
only  as  a  pastii  ;e  ii  id  as  a  foil  to  her  ambitious  dc.sii^qiN 
upon  the  Intendaut!  Poor  Le  (iardeur !  Vv'hat  lia|)])iiics, 
might  not  be  his  in  the  love  of  a  woman  nfjble-iuiiiilcd 
as  himself  !  What  happiness  were  he  y(nns,  ( )  (huliii:; 
Heloise!"  She  kissed  her  pallid  cheeks,  wet  willi  icais, 
which  lay  by  hers  on  the  same  pillow,  and  both  reiDaiiicd 
silently  brooding  over  the  thoughts  which  spring  from  low 
and  sorrow. 

"Happiness  can  never  be  mine,  Anielie,"  said  Ilelfiisi', 
after  a  lapse  of  several  minutes.  "  I  have  long  feaici  it. 
now  I  know  it.  Le  Gardeur  loves  Angeiique  ;  he  is  wiiollv 
hers,  and  not  one  little  corner  of  his  heart  is  left  for  poor 
Heloise  to  nestle  in!  I  did  not  ask  much,  Amclie,  hut  1 
have  not  retained  the  little  interest  I  believed  was  once 
mine!  He  has  thrown  the  whole  treasure  of  his  life  at  lur 
feet.  After  playing  with  it,  she  will  spurn  it  for  a  iiioic 
ambitious  alliance  !  Oh,  Amelie  !  "  exclaimed  she  with  \  i\  iciiy. 
*'  I  could  be  wicked  !  Heaven  forgive  me  !  I  could  Ik  ciial 
and  without  pity  to  save  liC  Gardeur  from  the  wiles  of  sui  !i 
a  woman  1  ' 

The  night  was  a  .storn\y  one ;  the  east  wind,  which  liad  lain 
in  a  dead  lull  through  tlio  early  hours  of  the  evenini'  rose  ;:. 
all  its  strength  at  the  turn  of  the  title.  It  came  bouivii:. 
like  the  distant  thud  of  a  canrion,  It  roared  and  ratikni 
against  the  windows  and  casements  of  the  Manor  IIoum. 
sounding  a  deep  bass  in  the  hmg  chimneys  and  howling  lil^^' 
souls  in  torment  anu':'i  the  distant  woods. 

The  rain  swept  down  in  tor'-ents,  as  if  the  windows  'i! 
heaven  were  opened  to  wa^h  a'.vay  the  world's  detiknun- 
The  stout  walls  of  the  Mp.nov  House  wete  inmiovabk'  a.. 
rocks,  but  tlie  wind  and  the  rain  and  the  noise  of  the  stuini 
struck  an  awe  into  the  two  girls.     They  crept  closer  tugoth  ' 


A    WILD    NKillT    IN'DOOKS    AND    OUT. 


421 


lerre  s  ilmikmi- 
was  the  slaw 


in  their  bed  ;  they  dared  not  separate  for  the  night.  The 
storm  seemed  too  much  the  refiex  of  the  agitation  of  their 
own  minds,  and  they  lay  clasped  in  each  other's  arms, 
minj^ling  their  tears  and  i^rayers  for  Le  Oardeur  until  the 
ijniv  tlawn  looked  over  the  eastern  hill  and  they  slept. 

The  Chevalier  de  Pean  was  faithful  to  the  mission  upon 
which  he  had  been  despatched  to  Tilly.  He  disliked  in- 
tensely the  return  of  Le  Gardeur  to  renew  his  old  ties  with 
Ani^clique.  Ihit  it  was  his  fate,  his  cursed  crook,  he  called 
it.  ever  to  be  overborne  by  some  woman  or  other,  and  he 
resolved  that  Le  Gardeur  should  pay  for  it  with  iiis  money, 
and  be  so  Hooded  by  wine  and  debauchery  that  Angelique 
herself  would  repent  that  she  had  ever  invited  his  return. 

Thai  she  would  not  marry  Le  Gardeur  was  plain  enough 
lu  ])e  I'ean,  who  knew  her  ambitious  views  regarding  the 
Intendant;  and  that  the  Intendant  would  not  marry  her  was 
e(|uallv  a  certainl}-  to  him,  although  it  did  not  prevent  De 
[Van's  entertaining  an  intense  jealousy  of  Bigot, 

Despite  discouraging  prospects,  he  found  a  consolation  in 
ihe  retlection  that,  failing  his  own  vain  efforts  to  please 
Aniclie  de  Repentigny  for  sake  of  her  wealth,  the  woman 
he  most  loved  for  sake  of  her  beauty  and  spirit  would  yet 
drop  like  a  golden  Heece  into  his  arms,  either  through  spite 
at  her  false  lover  or  through  love  of  himself.  J  )e  Pean  cared 
little  which,  for  it  was  the  person,  not  the  inclination  of 
.\n2;e'li(iue,  that  carried  away  captive  the  admiration  of  the 
Chevalier  de  Pean. 

The  better  to  accomplish  his  crafty  design  of  abducting 
l.v.' (lardeur,  De  Pean  had  taken  up  his  lodging  at  the  village 
"an.  lie  knew  that  in  the  polite  hospitalities  of  the  Manor 
lhn;se  he  could  lind  few  opportunities  to  work  u\xm  the 
susceptible  nature  of  Le  Gardeur;  that  too  many  loving  eyes 
would  there  watch  over  his  safety,  and  that  he  was  himself 
suspected,  and  his  presence  only  t(jlerated  on  account  of  the 
business  which  had  ostensibly  brought  him  there.  At  the 
'Un  he  would  be  free  to  work  out  his  schemes,  sure  of 
^uceess  if  bv  anv  means  and  on  am-  pretence  he  could  draw 
l.^^Oardeur  thither  and  rouse  into  life  and  fury  the  sleei)ing 
serpents  of  his  old  propensities,  —  the  love  of  gaming,  the 
'jve  uf  wine,  and  the  love  of  Angelique. 
Could  Le  Gardeur  be  persuaded  to  drink  a  full  measure 


422 


THE    C-.Ol.DF.X    DOG. 


to  the  brii^ht  e\'es  of  Aiig(jli([ue  des  .NTeloises,  and  could  lie. 
when  the  fire  was  kindled,  be  tempted  once  more  lo  take  in 
hand  the  box  more  fatal  than  that  of  i'andora  and  place 
fortune  on  the  turn  of  a  die,  I  )e  I'can  knew  well  that  no 
power  on  earth  could  stop  tiie  c(jntlagration  of  e\'er\-  i^Dod 
resohition  and  e\ery  virtuous  principle  in  his  mind.  XcMthtr 
aunt  nor  sister  n(jr  friends  could  withhold  him  then!  If^ 
would  return  to  the  cit\-,  where  the  (Jrand  Comi^anv  had  ,i 
use  to  make  of  him  which  he  wxndd  never  understand  uiuil 
it  was  too  late  for  auj^ht  but  repentance. 

l)e  I'ean  ])ondered  long  ujxjn  a  few  words  he  had  one 
day  heard  drop  from  the  lips  of  Higot,  which  meam  nioiv. 
much  more,  than  thev  seemed  to  implv,  and  thev  flitted  Ion" 
through  hi.^  memory  like  bats  in  a  room  seeking  an  ouilcl 
into  tile  night,  ominous  of  some  deed  of  darkness. 

l)e  I*ean  imagined  that  he  had  found  a  way  lo  revenue 
himself  on  Le  (iardeur  and  Amelie  each  for  thwarting 
him  in  a  scheme  of  love  or  fortune.  He  brooded  long  and 
malignantly  how  to  hatch  the  plot  which  he  fancied  was  his 
own,  but  which  had  really  been  conceived  in  tlie  deejier  l)r,iin 
of  ]]igot.  whose  few  seemingly  harmless  words  had  dropped 
into  the  ear  of  l)e  Fean,  casually  as  it  were,  but  which  Hi^oi 
knew  would  take  root  and  grow  in  the  congenial  soul  of  his 
secretary  and  one  day  bring  forth  terrible  fruit. 

The  next  day  was  wet  and  autunnial,  with  a  sweeping  ea--i 
wind  which  blew  raw  and  gustily  over  the  dark  grass  and 
drooping  trees  that  edged  the  muddy  lane  of  the  \  illa^e  ui 
Tilly. 

At  the  few  houses  in  the  village  everything  was  (]uifi, 
except  at  the  old-fashioned  inn,  with  its  low,  covered  gallery 
and  swinging  sign  of  the  Tilly  iVrms. 

'["here,  flitting  round  the  door,  or  occasionally  ])eorinL; 
through  the  windows  of  the  tap-room,  wiUi  jiipes  in  dicii 
mouths  and  perchance  a  tankard  in  their  hands,  were  seen 
the  elders  of  the  village,  boatmen,  and  habitans.  makinu,  usf, 
or  good  excuse,  of  a  rainy  day  for  a  social  gathering  in  the 
diy.  snug  chimney-corner  of  the  Tilly  Arms. 

[n  the  wai'mest  corner  of  all,  his  face  aglow  with  tiii' 
light  and  good  licpior,  sat  Master  i'othier  (///  Kobin.  wiih  his 
gown  tucked  up  to  his  waist  as  he  toasted  his  legs  and  old 
gamashes  in  the  genial  warmth  of  a  bright  lire. 


A    WILD    NIGHT    INDOORS    AND    OUT. 


423 


He  leaned  back  his  head  and  twirled  his  thumbs  for  a  few 
minutes  without  s|3eaking  or  listeninj:^  to  the  babi)le  around 
him,  which  had  now  turned  upon  the  war  and  the  latest 
>\veep  of  the  royal  commissaries  for  c(>rn  and  cattle.  "  Did 
vnu  say,  Jean  La  Marche,"  said  he,  "that  Le  Gardeur  de 
Repeiitigny  was  playing  dice  and  drinking  hot  wine  with  the 
ihcvalier  de  Pean  and  two  big  dogs  of  the  Friponne  ? " 

"I  did."  Jean  spoke  with  a  choking  sensation.  "Our 
vniinu  Seigneur  has  broken  out  again  wilder  than  ever,  and  is 
neither  to  hold  nor  bind  any  longer !  " 

•Ay!"  replied  Master  Pothier  reflectively,  "the  best 
bond  !  could  draw  would  not  bind  him  more  than  a  spider's 
thread  !  They  are  stiff-necked  as  bulls,  these  De  Repen- 
tii;nys,  and  will  bear  no  yoke  but  what  they  put  on  of  them- 
mKcs  !  I'oor  lad !  Do  they  know  at  the  Manor  House  that 
he  is  here  drinking  and  dicing  with  the  Chevalier  de  Pean  ?  " 

•N't)!  Else  all  the  rain  in  heaven  would  not  have  pre- 
vented his  being  looked  after  by  Mademoiselle  Amelie  and 
Riv  Lady,"  answered  Jean.  "His  friend,  Pierre  Philibert, 
who  is  now  a  great  officer  of  the -King,  went  last  night  to 
Ilatiscan,  on  some  matter  of  the  army,  as  his  groom  told  me. 
Ilul  he  been  here,  Le  Gardeur  would  not  have  spent  the  day 
it  the  Tilly  Arms,  as  we  poor  habitans  do  when  it  is  washing- 
day  at  home." 

"Pierre  Philibert!"  Master  Pothier  rubbed  his  hands  at 
this  reminder,  "  I  remember  him,  Jean  !  A  hero  like  St. 
Denis!  It  was  he  who  walked  into  the  Chateau  of  the 
intendant  and  brought  off  young  De  Kepentigny  as  a  cat 
does  her  kitten." 

"What,  in  his  mouth,  Master  Pothier.?" 

"  None  of  your  quips,  Jean  ;  keep  cool  !  "  Master  Pothier's 
'iwn  face  grew  red.  "  Never  ring  the  coin  that  is  a  gift,  and 
do  not  stretch  my  comparisons  like  your  own  wit  to  a  bare 
thread.  If  1  had  said  in  his  mouth,  what  then.?  It  was  by 
"ord  of  mouth,  I  warrant  you,  that  he  carried  him  away  from 
Ileaunianoir.  Pity  he  is  not  here  to  take  him  awav  from  the 
Tillv  Arms!" 

I'hi,'  sound  of  voices,  the  rattle  and  chish  of  the  dice-box 
in  the  distant  parlor,  reached  his  ear  amidst  the  laughter 
tnd  gabble  of  the  connnon  room.  The  night  was  a  hard 
'"le  in  the  little  inn. 


424 


TIIK    (iOLPKN    DOG. 


In  proportion  as  the  connnon  room  of  the  inn  irrcw 
quiet  by  the  departure  of  its  i^uesls,  the  parlor  (>ccui)ie(l  l)v 
the  gentlemen  became  more  noisy  and  cHstinct  in  its  confu- 
sion. The  song,  the  laugh,  the  jest,  and  jingle  of  glasses 
mingled  with  the  perpetual  rattle  of  dice  or  the  thumps  which 
accompanied  the  play  of  successful  cards. 

Paul  (iaillard,  the  host,  a  timid  little  fellow  not  used  u< 
such  high  imperious  guests,  only  ventured  to  look  into  the 
parlor  when  sununoned  for  more  wine.  He  was  a  l)orn 
censitairr  of  the  house  of  Tilly,  and  felt  shame  and  j)itv  as  he 
beheld  the  dishevelled  figure  of  his  young  Seigneur  shakiim 
the  dice-box  and  defying  one  and  all  to  another  cast  for  hue. 
liquor,  or  whole  handfuls  of  uncounted  coin. 

Paul  (laillard  had  venturefl  once  to  whisper  soniclliin^ 
to  Le  (lardeur  about  sending  his  caleche  to  the  MaiKu 
House,  hoping  that  his  youthful  master  would  consent  lo  Ic 
driven  home,  liut  his  proposal  was  met  by  a  wikl  lau-ii 
from"  Le  Gardeur  and  a  good-humored  expulsion  from  the 
room. 

He  dared  not  again  interfere,  but  contented  liimsclf 
with  waiting  until  break  of  day  to  send  a  message  to  the 
Lady  de  Tilly  informing  her  of  the  sad  plight  of  his  youii- 
master. 

De  Pean,  with  a  great  object  in  view,  had  summoned  Le 
Mercier  and  Kmeric  de  Lantagnac  from  the  city.  piiieiu 
topers  and  hard  players,  —  to  assist  him  in  his  desperate 
game  for  the  soul,  body,  and  fortune  of  Le  (lardeur  de 
Repentigny. 

They  came  willingly.  The  Intendant  had  laughiniily 
wished  them  boii  Tovin^v  and  a  speedy  return  with  hi> 
friend  Le  (lardeur,  giving  them  no  other  intimalion  nt 
his  wishes;  nor  could  they  surmise  that  he  had  an\ nthei 
object  in  view  than  the  pleasure  of  again  meeting  a  pleasant 
companion  of  his  table  and  a  sharer  of  their  pleasures. 

1  )e  Pean  had  no  difficulty  in  enticing  Le  (lardeur  down 
to  the  village  inn,  where  he  had  arranged  that  he  should 
meet,   by  mere  accident,   as  it  were,   his  old  city  friends. 

The  bold,  generous  nature  of  Le  Gardeur,  who  neither 
suspected  nor  feared  any  evil,  greeted  them  with  warmth, 
'I'hey  were  jovial  fellows,  he  knew,  who  would  be  all  routed 
if    he  refused    to   drink    a   cup  of   wine    with   them.      They 


A    WILD    XIC.IIT    INnOOKS    AM)    ()L"T. 


4^5 


the  inn  ^I•c\v 
r  (x:cui)ic(l  by 
t  in  its  confii- 
^It'  of  jjjhissfs 
thumps  whith 


V  not  used  u< 
lot»k  into  the 
e  was  a  horn 
and  pity  as  lie 
^ncur  shakiii;,' 
r  cast  for  Imi-. 


per  soniftiiini; 
to  tliL'  Matmr 
consent  to  be 
/  a  wikl  l,uii;h 
Ision  from  tlu- 

;ente(l    himself 

lessa^e  to  tlie 

of  liis  yuuii^ 

sunuHoned  i.c 
city,  |i()ieni 
liis  tlcspcratL' 

e  Clarcleiir  dc 

ad  laiiiihin^dy 
turn  with  hi> 
intinialioii  ut 
had  any  otlicr 
in<;'  a  pkasaiit 
easiiics. 
'iardeur  down 
Kit  he  should 
:ity  fiiiMuls. 
who  neither 

with   warmth. 
1  be  alVronted 

them.     They 


trtliscd  of  the  gossip  of  tlie  city,  its  coteries  and  pleasant 
M-andals,  and  of  the  beauty  and  si)lendor  of  the  (jueen  of 
suciety — An<;;e']i(iue  des  Meloises. 

be  (lardeur,  with  a  p.iinful  sense  of  his  last  interview 
with  Angelicpie,  and  never  for  a  moment  fcjrgetting  her  reit- 
dUed  words,  "  I  love  you,  Le  (iardcur,  but  1  will  not  marry 
vou,"'  kept  silent  whene\er  she  was  named,  but  talked  with 
,,n  air  of  cheerfulness  on  every  other  topic. 

His  one  glass  of  wine  was  soon  followed  by  another. 
He  was  pressed  with  such  cordiality  that  he  could  not 
rLtuse.  T'he  lire  was  rekindled,  at  first  with  a  faint  glow 
iil)on  his  cheek  and  a  sparkle  in  his  eye;  but  the  table 
Mion  overflowed  with  wine,  mirth,  and  laughter.  Me  drank 
•AJiiiout  reflection,  and  soon  spoke  with  warmth  anil  loose- 
ness from  all  restraint. 

l)e  I'ean,  resolved  to  excite  Le  dardeur  to  the  utmost, 
would  not  cease  alluding  to  Angelique.  He  recurred 
j^'ain  and  again  to  the  splendor  of  her  charms  and  the  fasci- 
nation of  her  ways.  He  watched  the  effect  of  his  speech 
upon  the  countenance  of  Le  Gafdeur,  keenly  observant  of 
Lvery  expression  of  interest  excited  l)y  the  mention  of  her. 

••\\'c  will  drink  to  her  bright  eyes,"  exclaimed  De  Pean, 
tilling  his  glass  until  it  ran  over,  "  first  in  beauty  and  worthy 
tube  first  in  place  in  New^  France — yea,  or  Old  France 
cither!  and  he  is  a  heathen  who  will  not  drink  this  toast !  " 

'■  be  Gardeur  will  not  drink  it !  Neither  would  I,  m  his 
place."  replied  Emeric  de  Lantagnac,  too  drunk  now  to  mind 
what  he  said.  "  I  would  drink  to  the  bright  eyes  of  no 
woman  who  had  played  me  the  trick  Angelique  has  played 
ipon  Le  Gardeur  I  " 

"  What  trick  has  she  played  upon  me  ? "  repeated  Le 
(jardeur,  with  a  touch  of  anger. 

"Why,  she  has  jilted  you  and  now  flies  at  higher  game, 
iiid  nothing  but  a  prince  of  the  blood  will  satisfy  her  !  " 

"I)oes  she  say  that,  or  do  you  invent  it?"  Le  (iardeur 
'•vas  ahnost  choking  with  angrv  feelings.  i'lmeric  cared 
iitde  what  he  said,  drunk  or  sober.      He  rej^lied  gravely, — 

"Oh,  all  thf.  women  in  the  citv  say  she  said  it  !  Hut  vou 
l^now,  Le  Gardeur,  women  will  lie  of  one  another  faster  than 
i  iiian  can  count  a  hundred  by  tens." 

Ih  Pean,  while  enjoying  the  \  exation  of  Le  Gardeur,  feared 


f  I 


426 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


that  the  l:)anter  of  F.meric  iiiigiit  have  an  ill  effect  on  his 
scheme.  "  I  do  not  believe  it,  Le  (lardeur  ;  "  said  he,  •'  Aiii^e- 
lique  is  too  true  a  woman  to  sa}-  wliat  she  means  to  evcrv 
jealous  rival.  The  women  hope  she  has  jilted  you.  'I'hat 
counts  one  more  chance  for  them,  you  know !  Is  not  that 
feminine  arithmetic,   Le  Mercier  ? "  asked  he. 

"it  is  at  the  Friponne,"'  replied  Le  Alercier,  laughinJ,^ 
"  l!ut  the  man  who  becomes  debtor  to  Angel ique  dcs  Me- 
loises  will  never,  if  I  know  her,  be  discharged  out  ot  her 
books,  even  if  he  pay  his  debt." 

"  Ay,  they  say  she  never  lets  a  lover  go,  or  a  friend 
either,"  replied  I)e  I'ean.  "I  have  proof  to  convince  l,e 
(lardeur  that  Angelique  has  not  jilted  him.  Emeric  reports 
women's  tattle,  nothing  more." 

Le  Ciardeur  was  thoroughly  roused.  '' /\i  Dicii'."  ex- 
claimed he,  "  my  affairs  are  well  talked  over  in  the  citv.  1 
think  !  Who  gave  man  or  woman  the  right  to  talk  ul  me 
thus?" 

"  No  one  gave  them  the  right.  But  the  women  claim  it 
indefeasibly  from  Kve,  who  commenced  talking  of  Adam's 
affairs  with  catan  the  first  time  her  man's  back  was  turned." 

"  I'shaw  !  .\ngeli(|ue  ties  Meloises  is  as  sensible  as  she  !> 
beautiful:  she  never  said  that!  No,  par  J  ),•(•// .'  she  never 
said  to  a  rn an  or  woman  that  she  had  jilted  nie, or  L';a\e  reason 
for  others  to  say  so  !  " 

Le  (iardeur  in  his  vexation  poured  out  with  ner\ou> 
hand  a  large  glass  of  pure  brandy  and  drank  it  down,  ll 
had  an  instant  effect.  His  forehead  flushed,  and  his  eyes 
dilated  with  fresh  fire.  "  She  never  said  that !  "  repeated  he 
fiercely.  "  I  would  swear  it  on  my  mother's  head,  she  ne\er 
did!  and  woukl  kill  any  man  who  would  dare  affirm  it  ot 
her  I  " 


"  Right !  the  way  to  win  a  woman  is  never  to  gi\e' 


liel 


uj),"  answered  I  )e  Pean.  "  Hark  you.  Le  (lardeur.  all  the 
cil\'  knows  that  she  faxored  vou  moie  than  anv  of  the  re>l  ul 
her  legion  of  admirers.  W'hy  aie  you  moping  awa\'  y(nir 
time  here  at  Tilly  when  you  ought  to  be  running  down  your 
game  in  the  city  ?  " 

"My  Alalanta  is  too  fleet  of  foot  for  me,  De  Tcan."  re 
plied  Le  (iartleur.  "  I  have  given  up  the  chase.  1  have  \vA 
the  luck  of  Hippomanes." 


A    WILD    NIGHT    IXDOO!:-     AM)    OL'T. 


427 


v'onien  claim  it 
ing  (if  .\(lain"s 
:k  was  luriu'd." 
sibie  as  slu'  In 
irit .'  she  iic\i'r 
,  or  L';ii\c  reason 


cr  to  L;ive  her 
lardeiii'.  all  tlio 
V  ot  the  \v>\  lit 
iiiu;  away  your 
iiii}4'  down  \iuir 

Dc   I'eaii."  IV- 
ke.      1  have  not 


Thai    is,  she    is    too    fast!"  said   l)e   Pean 


mockinslv 


ly- 


••IJut  have  you  thrown  a  golden  apple  at  her  feet  to  stop 
vour  runaway  nymph  ?  " 

••I  have  thrown  mvself  at  her  feet,  I  )e  I'ean!  and  in 
vain."  said  Le  (iardeiir,  gulping  down  another  cup  of 
'randy. 

Ml'  I'ean  watched  tiie  effect  of  the  deep  potations  which 
I.c  Oardeur  now  poured  down  to  quench  the  rising  fires 
kindled  in  his  breast.  "Come  here,  Le  (Jardeur,"  said  he; 
"I  have  a  message  for  you  which  I  woidd  not  deliver  l)efore, 
;t.-i  \ou  might  be  angry." 

l)e  I'ean   led  him  into  a  recess  of  the  r 


oom. 


Y 


ou  are 


wanted  in  the  city,"  whispered  he.  "  Angelicjue  sent  this 
ittle  note  by  me.  She  jnit  it  in  my  hand  as  I  was  enibark- 
:'i^  for  Tilly,  and  blushed  redder  than  a  rose  as  she  did  so. 
!  promised  to  deHver  it  safely  to  you." 

It  was  a  note  c]uaintly  folded  in  a  style  Le  (lardeur  recog- 
nized well,  inxdting  him  to  return  to  the  citv.  its  language 
'vas  a  luixtMre  of  light  persillage  and  tantalizing  c(X}uetry, — 
vJK'  was  dying  of  the  dullness  of  the  city  !  The  late  l^all  at 
\\)\i  Palace  had  been  a  failure,  hicking  the  presence  of  Le 
(iardeur!  Her  house  was  forlorn  without  the  \isits  of  her 
dear  friend,  and  she  wanted  his  trustv  counsel  in  an  affair  of 


as 


t  imjiortance  to  iier  welfare;  and  happiness 


'•That  girl  loves  you,  and  you  may  have  her  for  the  ask- 
;!"  continued  I)e  I'ean,  as  Le  Ciartleur  sat  ciumpling  the 
tcr  lip  in   his  hand.      De   Pean   watched  his  countenance 
til  the  eye  of  a  basilisk, 
"ho  you  think  so?"  asked   T^e  (lardeur  eagerly.     "Hut 


:io, 


ha\e  no  more 


fait! 


1  m  woman  ;  she  does  not  mean  it 


ill 


t  if  she  does  mean  it,   would  \'ou  go,   Le  (lardeur 


'Would     I    go?"    leplied   he,   eycitedl\ 
to  the   lowest    pit    in    hell    for    h'r  ! 


launtin<r  me,  I  )e  Pean  ! 


umt  vou 


Ivead 


ler   note  auain 


*'  \'es,    1    would 
liut   \\h\'   are  )\)\\ 


She  wants  \n 


iiisl\    counsel    in    an   affair  td    the   last    iuiixntance    to    h 


'veltarc  and   happiness. 

iinpor 
•iardcur 


lu-e    to    a    wom.^n 


\\n\  kiKiw  what  is  the  affair  of  Ia>t 
Will    \ou    refuse    her    now     Le 


\ 


o. 


,7/- 


/) 


I  CI  I 


I  (an    refuse   her  nothinir;    no,  not  if  she 


NsC( 


1  nie  for  my  head,  although    1   know   it   is  but  mockery, 


428 


THE    flOLDEN    DOG. 


"  Never  mind  !  Tlien  you  will  return  with  us  to  tiiL'tin? 
We  stiirt  at  dayJDreak." 

"  Ves,  I  will  go  with  you,  I)e  Pean  ;  you  have  made  nie 
drunk,  and  1  am  willing  to  stay  drunk  till  I  leave  Amelia 
and  my  aunt  and  Heloise,  up  at  the  Manor  House.  I'ienc 
I'hilibert.  iie  will  be  angry  tiiat  I  leave  him,  hut  he  can 
follow,  and  they  can  all  follow!  1  hate  myself  for  u.  Dc 
Pean  !  I^ut  Angc'lique  des  Meloises  is  to  me  more  than 
creature  or  Creator.  It  is  a  sin  to  love  a  woman  as  I  lovo 
her,  I)e  Pean  !  " 

J)e  Pean  fairly  writhed  before  the  spirit  he  evoked.  Ik- 
was  not  so  sure  of  iiis  game  but  tiiat  it  might  yet  l)e  lost. 
He  knew  Angelique's  passionate  iuipulses,  and  he  thuu^ht 
that  no  woman  could  resist  such  devotion  as  that  of  Lc 
Gardeur. 

He  kept  down  his  feelings,  however.  He  saw  that  \.c 
Gardeur  was  ripe  for  ruin.  They  returned  to  the  table  and 
drank  still  more  freely.  Dice  and  cards  were  resumid: 
fresh  challenges  were  thrown  out  ;  Kmeric  and  Le  .Mcicicr 
were  already  deep  in  a  game  ;  money  was  pushed  to  antl 
fro.  'J'he  contagion  fastened  like  a  plague  upon  Le  (lar- 
deur,  who  sat  down  at  the  table,  drew  forth  a  full  purse,  and 
l)ulling  up  every  anchor  of  restraint,  set  sail  on  the  llood-tidi' 
of  drinking  and  gaming  which  lasted  without  ceasini;  until 
break  of  day. 

1  )e  Pean  never  for  a  moment  lost  sight  of  his  scheme  tui 
the  abduction  of  I^e  Gardeur,  He  got  ready  for  departuie. 
and  with  a  drunken  rush  and  a  broken  song  the  four 
gallants,  witii  unwashed  faces  and  disordered  clothes,  sta;^- 
gered  into  their  canoe  and  with  a  shout  bade  the  bnatnun 
start. 

The  hardy  canotiers  were  ready  for  departure.  Thov 
headed  their  long  canoes  down  the  Mowing  rivtM,  dashotl 
their  padtlles  into  the  water  just  silvered  with  the  rays  ol 
the  rising  sun,  anci  shot  down  stream  towards  the  city  of 
(^)uebec. 

I)e  Pe;in,  elate  with  his  success,  did  not  let  the  naiely  ot 
the  party  Hag  for  a  moment  during  their  return.  They 
drank,  sang,  antl  talked  balderdash  and  indecencies  in  a 
way  to  bring  a  look  of  disgust  upon  the  cheeks  of  the  rDULjIi 
boatmen. 


A    WILD    NKilU-     IMXK^KS    AM)    Or/J'. 


4-9 


1  US  to  the  tiiv  ? 


Much  less  sober  than  when  they  left  Tilly,  the  riotous 
p:irtv  reached  the  capital.  The  canotiers  with  rapid  strokes 
, if  the  paddle  passed  the  hisjjh  cliffs  and  guarded  walls,  and 
iii;ulc  for  the  quay  of  the  Friponne,  De  Pean  forcing;  silence 
apon  his  companions  as  they  passed  the  Sault  au  Matelot, 
where  a  crowd  of  idle  boatmen  hailed  them  with  volleys 
nf  raillery,  which  only  ceased  when  the  canoe  was  near 
dioui;h  for  them  to  see  whom  it  contained.  They  were 
;n>iantly  silent.  The  rijjjorous  search  made  by  order  of  the 
liileiulant  after  the  late  rioters,  and  the  summary  punish- 
nicni  iiitlicted  upon  all  who  had  been  convicted,  had  inspired 
1  careful  avoidance  of  offence  toward  JJigot  and  the  high 
(iliicers  of  his  staff. 

De  Pean  landed  quietly,  few  caring  to  turn  their  heads  too 
often  towards  him.  Le  Gardeur,  wholly  under  his  control, 
."ta^^ered  out  of  the  canoe,  and.  taking  his  arm,  was  dragged 
rather  than  led  up  to  the  Palace,  where  IHgot  greeted  the 
party  with  loud  welccne.  Apartments  were  assigned  to  Le 
(lirdeur,  as  to  a  most  honored  guest  in  the  Palace.  Le 
(iardeur  de  Repentigny  was  finally  and  wholly  in  the  power 
of  the  Intendant. 

l!ig(H  looked  triumphant,  and  congratulated  De  Pean  on 
the  success  of  his  mission.  "We  will  keep  him  now!"  said 
ht,  •'  Le  Gardeur  must  never  draw  a  sober  breath  again 
until  we  have  done  with  him  !  " 

De  Pean  looked  knowingly  at  Bigot ;  "  1  understand,"  said 
hc:"Kmeric  and  Le  Mercier  will  drink  him  blind,  and 
I'adet.  Varin,  and  the  rest  of  us  will  rattle  the  dice  like  hail. 
Wo  must  pluck  the  pigeon  to  his  last  feather  before  he  will 
teel  desperate  enough  to  play  your  game.  Chevalier." 

"As  you  like,  I  )e  Pean,  about  that,"  replied  Higot ;  "  onlv 
niind  that  he  does  not  leave  the  Palace.  His  friends  will 
run  after  him.  That  accursed  Philibert  will  be  here:  on 
vi'ur  life,  do  not  let  him  see  him!  Hark  you  !  When  he 
i-oines,  make  Le  CJardeur  affront  him  by  some  offensive 
leply  to  his  incjuiiy.      V'ou  can  do  it." 

De  Pean  took  the  hint,  and  acted  upon  it  by  forging  that 
infamous  card  in  the  name  of  Le  Gardeur,  and  sentling  it  as 
liis  reply  to  Pierre  IMdlibert. 


CHAPTKK    XXXIX. 


MKRK    MALHEUR. 


I  A  CORRIVIvAU,  eager  to  commence  lur  WDik  c; 
^  wickedness,  took  up  her  abode  at  the  house  df  lur 
ancient  friend,  Mere  Malheur,  whitiier  I^e  went  on  ilir 
night  of  her  tirst  interview  with  Angeli(|ue. 

It  was  a  small   house,  built  of  uncut  stones,  wiih  nm^ii  jj 
stone  steps  and  lintels,  a  peaked  roof,  and  low  overliaiiLiinL; 
eaves,  hiding  itself  under  the  shadow  of  the  clilV,  so  ei().>t,iv 
that  it  seemed  to  form  a  part  of  the  rock  itself. 

Its  sole  inmate,  an  old  crone  who  had  reached  the  1;m 
degree  of  woman's  ugliness  and  woman's  heartlessncss. 
Mere  Malheur  —  sold  fair  winds  to  superstitious  sailors  ami 
good  luck  to  hunters  and  voyageurs.  She  was  not  a  liulr 
suspected  of  dabbling  in  other  forbidden  things.  Hall 
believing  in  her  own  impostures,  she  regarded  La  (orriveai; 
with  a  feeling  akin  to  worship,  who  in  return  fur  thi>  devo- 
tion imparted  to  her  a  few  secrets  of  minor  imporlancc  in 
her  dialiolic  arts. 

Tva  ('orriveau  wrs  ever  a  welcome  guest  at  the  house  ni 
Mere  Malheur,  who  feasted  her  lavishly,  and  servctl  lur 
obsecjuiously,  l)ut  did  not  press  with  undue  curiosit}' to  Irani 
her  business  in  the  city.  Tlie  two  w(,)men  undeistiMcl  one 
another  well  enough  not  to  pry  too  closely  into  each  oilii'r'> 
secrets. 

On  this  occasion  T.a  Corriveau  was  more  than  usually 
reserved,  and  while  Mere  Malheur  eageily  detailed  to  her 
all  the  doings  and  undoings  that  had  happened  in  her  tireK 
of  ac(|uaintanee,  she  got  little  information  in  return.  Slu 
shrewdly  concluded  that  La  (\)iii\eau  had  business  on  liaiui 
which  would  not  bt'ar  to  be  spoken  of. 

"  When    you    need    my    help,  ask   for    it    without   scruple, 
Dame  Dodier,'"  said  the  old  crone.     "  1   see  you  haw  .sonn 
thing  on  hand  that  may  neetl  my  aid.      1  would  go  into  tlu' 

430 


MERE    MALHEUR. 


431 


lire  to  serve  you,  although  I  would  not  burn  lu}-  finger  for 
anv  other  woman  in  the  world,  and  you  know  it." 

"  \'es,  I  know  it,  Mere  Malhem,"  La  ("orriveau  spoke 
witii  an  air  of  superiority,  "  and  you  say  rightly :  I  have 
3onit;thing  on  hand  which  1  cannot  accomplish  alone,  and 
1  ncfd  your  help,  although  I  cannot  tell  you  yet  how  or 
.iiiainst  whom." 

'•  is  it  a  woman  or  a  man  ?  I  will  only  ask  that  ciuestion, 
j)ame  Dodier,"  said  the  crone,  turning  upon  her  a  pair  of 
„'rfeii,   inquisitive  eyes. 

•  It  is  a  woman,  and  so  of  course  you  will  help  me.  Our 
^c.x  for  the  bottom  of  all  mischief,  Mere  A^alheur!  1  do  not 
kiKiw  what  women  are  made  for  except  to  plague  one  an- 
iitlier  for  the  sake  of  worthless  men  !  " 

The  old  crone  laughed  a  hideous  laugh,  and  playfully 
pushed  her  long  fingers  into  the  ribs  of  La  C'orriveau. 
•Miide  for!  cpiotha  !  men's  temptation,  to  be  sure,  and  the 
iicginning  of  all  mischief!" 

"  I'retty  temptations  you  and  I  are,  Mere  Malheur ! " 
replied  La  Corriveau,  with  a  scornftil  laugh. 

"  Well,  we  were  pretty  temptations  once !  I  will  never 
^ive  up  that!  Vou  must  own,  Dame  Dodier,  we  were  both 
pretty  temptations  once  !  " 

"Pshaw!  I  wish  I  had  been  a  man,  for  my  part,"  replied 
La  Corriveau,  impetuously.  "  Ir  was  a  spiteful  cross  of  fate 
10  make  me  a  woman  !  " 

"  l)Ut,  Dame  Dodier,  I  like  to  be  a  woman,  1  do.  A  man 
.aiinot  be  half  as  wicked  as  a  woman,  especially  if  she  be 
young  and  pretty,"  saiil  the  old  woman,  laughing  till  the 
tears  ran  out  of  her  bleared  eyes. 

"Xay,  that  is  true.  Mere  Malheur;  the  fairest  women  in 
;lu.'  wnvld  are  ever  the  worst!  fair  and  false!  fair  and  false' 
'iliey  are  always  so.  Not  one  belti-r  than  another.  8at;\n"s 
mark  is  ui.)on  all  of  us!"  La  Coniveau  looked  an  iiuar- 
natioii  of  Hecate  as  she  uttered  this  calumny  \.\\)ou  her  si:x. 

"  .\\\  I  have  Ills  mark  on  my  knee.  Dame  Dodier,"  it'plied 
;liL'  Clone.  "  See  hei"e  !  it  was  pricked  once  in  llie  high 
court  of  .\rras,  but  the  fool  judge  decided  that  it  was  a 
niole,  and  not  a  witch-mark  !  1  escajied  a  red  g.)\\ii  that 
lime,  however.  1  laughed  at  hi^  stupidity,  and  iiewilehed 
'lim  for  it  in   earnest.      I  was  young  and   [iiett)- then  ,'      He 


432 


THE    GOI.DEN    DOG. 


died  in  a  year,  and  Satan  sat  on  his  grave  in  tiie  shape  of  a 
black  cat  until  his  friends  set  a  cross  over  it.  I  like  to  he  a 
woman,  I  do,  it  is  so  easy  to  be  wicked,  and  so  nice  !  I 
always  tell  the  girls  that,  and  they  give  me  twice  as  mudi 
as  if  I  had  told  them  to  be  good  and  nice,  as  they  call  it: 
I'shaw  !   Nice  !   If  only  men  knew  us  as  we  really  are  !  " 

"  Well,  I  do  not  like  women.  Mere  Malheur,"  replied  l,a 
Corriveau ;  "they  sneer  at  you  and  me  and  call  us  witcli 
and  sorceress,  and  they  will  lie,  steal,  kill,  and  do  worse- 
themselves  for  the  sake  of  one  man  to-day,  and  cast  him  dii 
for  sake  of  another  to-morrow!  Wise  Solomon  found  onlv 
one  good  woman  in  a  thousand ;  the  wisest  num  now  tinds 
not  one  in  a  worldful !  It  were  better  all  of  us  were  dead. 
Mere  Malheur ;  but  pour  me  out  a  glass  of  wine,  for  I  am 
tired  of  tramping  in  the  dark  to  the  house  of  that  gay  ladv 
I  told  you  of." 

Mere  Malheur  poured  out  a  glass  of  choice  Beaunie  from 
a  dainc-jcannc  which  she  had  received  from  a  roguish  saiKir, 
who  had  stolen  it  from  his  ship. 

"But  you'have  not  told  me  who  she  is.  Dame  Dodiei.' 
replied  Mere  Malheur,  refilling  the  glass  of  La  Corriveau. 

"  Nor  will  I  yet.  She  is  fit  to  be  your  mistress  and  mini', 
whoever  she  is  ;  but  1  shall  not  go  again  to  see  her." 

And  La  Corriveau  did  not  again  visit  the  house  of  An^c- 
lique.  She  had  received  from  her  preci.se  infornialioii  re 
specting  the  movements  of  the  Intendant.  He  had  gone  to 
the  Trois  Rivieres  on  urgent  affairs,  and  might  he  ahsiiit 
for  a  week. 

Angc'lique  had  received  from  Varin,  in  reply  to  her  eauci 
question  for  news,  a  short,  falsified  account  of  the  piocetil- 
ings  in  the  Council  relali\e  to  Caroline  and  of  IJigot's  iiuliu 
nant  denial  of  all  knowledge  of  her. 

Varin,  as  a  member  of  the  Council,  dared  not  re\cal  llu' 
truth,  but  would  give  his  familiars  half-hints,  or  tell  lo  oilkr> 
elaborate  lies,  when  pressed  for  information.  He  did  not,  in 
this  case,  even  hint  at  the  fact  that  a  search  was  to  l)e  made 
for  Caroline.  Had  he  done  so,  Angc'lique  would  herself  have 
given  secret  information  to  the  (lovernor  tc  order  the  search 
of  Heaumanoir,  and  thus  got  her  rival  out  of  the  way  withdul 
trouble,  risk,  or  crime. 

But   it  was  not   to  be.     The  little  word  that  would  liavc 


MKKK    MALHEUR. 


41  "• 


I  Beauiiie  from 


hat  would  ii;i\i' 


set  Iicr  active  .sjMrit  on  lire  to  aid  in  the  searcli  for  Caroline 
was  not  spoken,  ami  her  thoughts  remained  inunovably  tixetl 
upon  her  death. 

r.iil  if  Anij,t'li(}ue  had  been  misled  by  Varin  as  to  what 
had  passed  at  the  Council,  Mere  Malheur,  throu<;h  her  in- 
tercourse with  a  ser\ant  of  \';uin,  had  learned  the  truth. 
All  cavcsdroppiiii;  j^iooiu  had  o\erheard  his  master  and 
liie  Iniendant  C(jn\ersini;-  on  the  letters  of  the  Daron  and 
La  Pompadour.  The  man  told  his  sweetheart,  who.  coming 
with  some  stolen  sweetmeats  to  Mere  Malheur,  told  her,  who 
ill  uirn  was  not  lonj^  in  imparting  what  she  had  heard  to  La 
(orriveau. 

I,a  Corriveau  did  not  fail  to  see  that,  should  Angelique 
(iiMOvcr  that  her  ri\al  was  to  l)e  searched  for,  and  taken  to 
France  if  found,  she  would  at  once  change  her  mind,  and 
I'aroline  would  be  got  rid  of  without  need  of  her  interference. 
Hui  La  Corriveau  had  got  her  hand  in  the  dish.  She  was 
not  one  to  lose  her  promised  reward  or  miss  the  chance  of 
<i)  cursed  a  deed  l)y  any  untimely  avowal  of  what  she  knew. 

.So  .Vngelicjue  was  doomed  to  remain  in  igncjrance  until 
too  late.  She  became  the  dupe  of  her  own  passions  and 
the  dupe  of  La  Corriveau,  who  carefully  concealed  from  her 
a  Mjcret  so  important. 

liiyot's  denial  in  the  C'ouncil  weighed  nothing  with  her. 
?he  fcdt  certain  that  the  lady  was  no  other  than  Caroline  de 
St, -('astin.  Angelic|ue  was  acute  enough  to  perceive  that 
l%ot"s  bold  assertion  that  he  knew  nothing  of  her  bound 
iiim  in  a  chain  of  obligation  ne\er  to  confess  afterwards 
aii^dit  to  the  contrary.  She  eagerly  persuaded  herself  that 
he  \v')uld  not  regret  to  hear  that  Caroline;  liad  died  by 
N)iiic  .sudden  and,  to  a|)pearance.  natural  death,  and  thus 
relicNcd  him  of  a  danger,  and  her  of  an  obstacle  to  lier 
marriage. 

Without  making  a  full  ccHilidant  of  Mere  Malheur,  La  (  or- 
nveau  resohed  to  make  use  of  hei'  in  can\iiig  out  her  dia- 
I'olical  scheme.  Mere  ALilheur  had  once  l)een  a  serxant  at 
i'leaunianoir.  .She  knew  tlu!  house,  and  in  her  iie}'day  of 
yoiuli  and  levity  iiad  (jften  smuggled  herself  in  and  out  1)\' 
the  subterranean  passage  which  ccjnnected  the  solitary  watch- 
i"\vcr  with  the  vaults  (jf  the  (diateau.  Mere  ALdheur  knew 
I'aiiif   rrend)lay,  who,  as  the  Charming  Josephine,  had  often 


434 


TIIK    (iOLDKN    DOG. 


consulted  her  upon  the  perplexities  of  a  heart  divided  aiiuin  ■ 
too  nianv  lovers. 

The  memory  of  that  fragrant  period  of  her  life  was  the 
freshest  and  pleasan^.est  of  all  Dame  Tremblay's  experience. 
It  was  like  the  odor  of  new-mown  hay,  telling  of  earlv  .sum- 
mer and  frolics  in  the  green  fields.  She  liked  noihin:^  heUei 
than  to  tr^lk  it  all  ov^r  in  her  snug  room  with  Mere  M.  iiieur. 
as  they  s.:l  opi>'  s.>e  >  ne  another  at  '  er  little  table,  each  with 
a  cup  of  t(..'.  in  jier  hand,  well  laced  with  brandy,  which  was 
a  favorit.j  wcMkne  3-.  of  them  both. 

Dame  Treuii">lay  '.\  ■>,  in  private,  neither  nice  nor  s(|ucaiiii^h 
as  to  the  nature  ot  her  gossip.  She  and  the  old  fdriuiie 
teller,  when  out  of  sight  f)f  the  re.st  of  the  servants,  haii 
always  a  dish  of  the  choicest  .scandal  fresh  from  the  cilv. 

La  Corriveau  resolved  to  send  Mere  Malheur  to  llcau 
manoir,  under  the  pretence  of  paying  a  visit  to  Daiiie 
Tremblay,  in  order  to  open  a  way  of  communication  between 
her.self  and  Caroline.  She  had  learned  enough  durin;:,^  her 
brief  interview  with  Caroline  in  the  forest  of  St.  Valicr.  and 
from  what  she  now  heard  respecting  the  Uaron  de  St.  (  nstiii, 
to  convince  her  that  this  was  no  other  than  his  missiii': 
d;:.aghter. 

"If  CaroMne  could  only  be  induced  to  admit  T.a  r urivcaii 
into  her  secret  chamber  and  take  her  into  her  contideiico, 
the  rest.  —  all  the  rest,"  muttered  the  hag  to  herself,  with 
terrible  emphasi.s,  "  would  be  easy,  and  my  reward  sure. 
But  that  reward  shall  be  measured  in  my  own  bushel,  not  in 
yours.  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises,  when  the  deed  is  done!" 

La  Corriveau  knew  the  power  such  a  secret  would  t,'nai)k 
her  to  exercise  over  Ange'licpie.  She  already  regarded  the 
half  of  her  reputed  riches  as  her  own.  "  Neither  she  not 
the  Intendant  w  ill  ever  dare  neglect  me  after  tliat ! "  said 
she.  ''  When  once  Angeliciue  shall  be  linked  in  with  nic 
by  a  secret  compact  of  blood,  the  fortune  of  La  Corriveau 
is  made.  If  the  death  of  this  girl  be  the  elixir  ot  lilV  to 
vou,  it  shall  be  the  touchstone  of  fortune  fore\er  to  L;i 
Corriveau  ! " 

Mere  Malheur  was  next  day  despatched  on  a  visit  tn  hoi 
old  gossip.  Dame  Tremblay.  She  had  been  well  tutored  I'li 
every  point,  what  to  say  and  how  to  demean  herself.  She 
bore  a  letter  to  Caroline,  written  in  the   Italian  hand  of  La 


MKKK     M  A  I.  Ilia 'H. 


435 


lividecl  .imoii^ 


I'o'  i  >  can,  who  IkkI   ItMinrfl  to  w  rile  well   fr(;;n    her  niolher, 
M,;       Kxili. 

Ti  J  mere  possession  of  the  art  of  "ritinijj  was  a  rarity  in 
thrs.  clays  in  tiie  class  amon^  wh(  in  she  lixed.  La  ( 'orri- 
ve!  s  abiwty  to  write  at  all  \v;is  i  circumstance  as  remarka- 
bl.  to  her  illiterate  neighbors  as  the  possession  of  the  black 
,irl  wliich  they  ascnoed  to  her,  and  not  without  a  strong; 
-u:,picion  that  it  had  the  same  orii;in. 

Mere  Malheur,  in  anticipation  of  a  cup  of  tea  and  brandy 
,vit!i  Dame  Tremblay,  had  dressed  herself  with  some  appear- 
ince  of  smartness  in  a  clean  striped  <^o\\u  of  linsey.  A 
[vakcd  Ailt)is  hat  surmounted  a  broad-frilled  caj),  which  left 
JMbic  some  tresses  of  coarse  gray  hair  and  a  pair  of  silv>;r 
c.ir-rinj2;s,  which  dangled  with  every  motion  of  her  her.' 
III!  shoes  displayed  broad  buckles  of  brass,  and  her  s*'  "i 
piuicoat  showed  a  pair  of  stout  ankles  enclosed  in  re*, 
clocked  stockings.  She  carried  a  crutched  stick  in  her 
'uul.  by  help  of  which  she  proceeded  vigorously  ori  iai 
iDiirncy. 

Starting  in  the  morning,  she  trudged  out  of  the  city 
iiwards  tlie  ferry  of  Jean  Le  Nocher,  who  carefully  crossed 
himself  and  his  l3oat  too  as  he  took  Mere  Malheur  on  board. 
lie  wafted  her  over  in  a  hmry,  as  sometiiing  to  be  got  rid 
of  as  quickly  as  possible. 

Mere  Malheur  tramped  on,  like  a  heavy  gnome,  through 
the  fallen  and  living  leaves  of  the  woods  of  IJeaumanoir,  car- 
iii;;'  nothing  for  the  golden,  hazy  sky,  the  soft,  balmy  air,  or 
iht  varicolored  leaves — scarlet,  yellow,  and  brown,  of  every 
shade  and  tinge       that  hung  upon  the  autiunnal  trees. 

A  frostv  niLjht  or  two  had  ushered  in  the  summer  of  St. 
Mailiii.  as  it  was  called  bv  the  habitans,  -  the  Indian  sum- 
niir,  that  brief  time  of  glory  and  enchantment  which  visits 
us  like  a  gaudy  herald  to  anncnmce  the  ai)proach  of  the  Win- 
ter King.  It  is  Nature's  last  rejoicing  in  the  sunshine  and  the 
"pen  air,  like  the  splendor  and  gaiety  of  a  maiden  devoted  to 
the  cloister,  who  for  a  few  weeks  is  allowed  to  flutter  like  a 
bird  of  paradise  amid  the  pleasures  and  gaieties  of  the  world, 
md  llicn  comes  the  end.  Her  locks  of  jiride  are  shorn  off; 
>lie  \eils  hei"  beauty,  and  kneels  a  nun  on  the  cold  stones  of 
iit-r  pahsionless  cell,  out  of  which,  even  with  repentance, 
tlicie  (  oines  no  deliverance. 


43^ 


liil',    (lOI.DKX     n()(i. 


Mere  Malheur's  arrival  at  IJeaumanoir  was  speedih  kiiowii 
to  all  the  servants  of  the  Chateau.  She  did  not  oflen  \i.sit 
them,  but  when  she  did  there  was  a  hurried  recital  of  an 
A7>c'  or  two  to  avert  any  harm,  followed  by  a  ])atronizinp,  wel- 
come and  a  runnnage  for  small  coins  to  cross  her  hand  withai 
in  return  for  her  solutions  of  the  graxe  questions  of  lovr, 
jealousy,  money,  and  marriage,  which  fermented  secrciix  m 
openly  in  the  bosoms  of  all  of  them.  They  were  hut  humaii 
beings,  fo(xl  for  imposture,  and  ])reyed  on  by  decei\ff.s. 
The  visit  of  Mere  Malheur  was  an  event  of  interest  in  hotli 
kitchen  and  laundry  of  the  Chateau. 

Dame  Treml)lay  had   the   fnsl   claim,  ho\ve\'er,  upon  ihi 
singular  visitor.      Slie  met  her  at  the  hack  dooi-  of  tiic  (h/. 
teau,  and  with  a  face  beaming  with  smiles,  and  (Iropi)iii:;  ili 
dignity,  exclaimed, 

"  Mere  Malheur,  upon  my  life!  Welcome,  you  wicked  olil 
soul !  you  surely  knew  I  wanted  to  see  you  !  come  in  and 
rest  !  you  must  be  tired,  unless  you  came  on  a  broom  !  h,! : 
ha!  come  to  my  room  and  never  mind  anybody!" 

This  last  remark  was  made  for  the  l.ienetit  of  the  ser\ants 
who  stood  peeping  at  every  door  and  corner,  not  daring  ii 
speak  to  the  old  woman  in  the  presence  of  the  housekecpu, 
but  knowing  that  their  time  would  come,  they  had  i)aticn(  t . 

The  housekeeper,  giving  them  a  severe  look,  proceeded  to 
her  own  snug  apartment,  followed  by  the  crone,  whom  shf 
seated  in  her  easiest  chair  and  proceeded  to  refresh  with  a 
glass  of  cognac,  which  was  swallowed  with  much  relish  ami 
wiping  of  lips,  accompanied  by  a  little  artiiicial  couiili. 
Dame  Tremblay  kept  a  carafe  of  it  in  her  room  to  raise  tlie 
temperature  of  her  low  s])irits  an(i  \apors  to  summer  heat, 
not  that  she  drank,  far  from  it,  but  she  liked  to  sip  a  little 
for  her  stomach's  sake. 

"  It  is  only  a  thimbleful  1  take  now  and  then,"  she  .said. 
"When  1  was  the  Charming  Josephine  I  u.sed  to  ki■^.s  ilic 
cups  J  presented  to  the  young  gallants,  and  1  took  no  inorf 
than  a  Hy  !  but  they  always  tlrank  bumpers  from  the  cup  I 
kissed  !  "  The  old  dame  looked  gra\e  as  she  shook  her  hcatl 
and  remarked,  "  I^ut  we  cannot  be  always  young  and  hand- 
some, can  we.  Mere  Malheur?" 

"  No,  dame,  but  we  can  be  jolly  and  fat,  and  that  is  what 
we  are  !  You  don't  quaff  life  by  thimblefuls,   and  you  only 


MERE    MAIJIEUR. 


437 


want  ;i  stout  offer  to  show  the  world  th;it  you  can  trip  as 
liiiskly  to  cluirch  yet  as  any  girl  in  New  I'lance  !  " 

The  humor  of  the  old  crone  convulsed  Dame  Tremhlav 
wilh  huigiiter,  as  if  some  inxisihle  fingers  were  tickling  her 
wildlv  under  the  armpits. 

She  comjjosed  herself  at  last,  and  drawing  her  chair  close 
•ij  that  of  ML-re  Malheur,  looked  lier  inquiringl\-  in  the  face 
and  a>ked.  "  What  is  the  news  ?  " 

Dame  'rreml)lay  was  endowetl  with  more  than  the  ordinary 
Liiriusily  of  her  sex.  She  knew  more  news  of  city  and  ccnm- 
;rv  than  any  one  else,  and  she  dispensed  it  as  freely  as  siie 
^'illicred.  She  never  let  her  st(jck  of  gossip  run  low,  and 
icver  allowed  man  or  woman  to  come  to  speak  with  her 
witiinut  pumping  them  dry  of  all  they  knew.  A  secret  in 
aiivhody's  |3ossession  set  her  wild  to  possess  it,  and  she 
;,'a\e  no  rest  to  her  inordinate  curiosity  until  she  had  fished 
it  uut  of  e\en  the  muddiest  waters. 

I'iie  mystery  that  hvmg  around  Caroline  was  a  source  of 
perpetual  irritation  to  the  nerves  of  Dame  Tremblay.  She 
had  tried  as  far  as  she  dared  by  hint  a'nd  suggestion  to  draw 
iioiii  the  ladv  some  reference  to  her  name  and  family,  hut  in 
vain.  Car(jline  would  avow  nothing,  and  Dame  'I'remblay, 
cuiii|)letely  baftled  by  a  faiku'e  of  ordinary  means  to  find  out 
die  secret,  bethought  herself  of  her  old  resource  in  case  of 
piTi)lexity,  Mere  Malheur. 

I'or  several  days  she  had  been  brooding  o\"er  this  mode  of 
saiisfying  her  curiosity,  when  the  unexpectc'd  \isit  of  Mere 
Malheur  set  aside  all  further  hesitation  about  disobeying  the 
iiUfudant's  orders  not  to  inc|uire  or  allow  any  other  person 
in  in:ike  inquisition  respecting  Caroline. 

"  Mere  Malheur,  you  feel  c(jmfortable  now  !  "  said  she. 
■  That  glass  of  cognac  has  gi\en  )-ou  a.  color  like  a  peony!" 

"  \'es.  1  am  very  comfortable  now,  dame  !  your  cognac  is 
iieavenly  :  it  warms  without  burning.  That  glass  is  the  best 
news  1  have  to  tell  of  to-day  !  " 

"  Xay,  but  there  is  always  something  stirring  in  the  city; 
somebody  born,  inanied.  or  dead  :  somcbod}  courted,  won, 
lo^i.  or  undone  :  somelxxlx's  name  up.  sftmebody's  rc;putation 
ilnwn  1  Tell  me  all  ycni  know,  Mere  xMalheur  1  and  then  I 
will  tell  \()u  something  that  will  make  vou  glad  \ou  came  to 
iJeaumanoir  to-da\'.    Take  another  sij)  of  ccjgnac  and  begin  !  " 


43« 


THE    (iULDKN    DUG 


'•  Ay,  dame,  that  is  indeed  a  lem])tation  !  "  She  took  {wo 
deep  sips,  and  holdinu;  her  ^hiss  in  her  hand,  l)ej;aii  AJth 
loose  toni^ue  to  rehite  llie  current  ij^ossip  of  the  citw  which  \\;l^ 
already  known  to  Dame  'i'rembhiy ;  hut  an  ill-natured  ver- 
sion of  it  from  the  lips  of  her  visitor  seemetl  to  u;i\e  it  a 
fresh  seasoning  and  a  relish  which  it  had  not  pre\iou,slv 
possessed. 

"  Now,  Mere  Malheur!  I  have  a  secret  to  tell  you,"  said 
Dame  'I'rendilay,  in  a  low,  confidential  tone,  "a  dead  secret. 
mind  you,  which  you  had  better  he  burnt  tli.m  leveal. 
'I'here  is  a  lady,  a  real  lady  if  I  e\er  saw  one.  li\inL;-  in  tlii- 
Chateau  here  in  the  greatest  privacy.  I  and  the  intriidini 
only  see  her.  She  is  beautiful  and  full  of  sorrow  as  tiie 
picture  of  the  blessed  Madonna.  What  she  is,  I  may  _mit.'ss: 
but  w ho  she  is,  1  cannot  conjecture,  and  would  L;i\e  iiiv  little 
fincjer  to  know  !  " 

"Tut,  dame!"  replied  Mere  Malheur,  with  a  toucli  of 
confidence,  "  I  will  not  believe  any  woman  could  keep  a 
secret  from  you!  lUit  this  is  news,  indeed,  you  tell  niel  A 
lady  in  concealment  here,  and  you  say  you  cannot  (iinl  hei 
out.  Dame  'lVend)lay  !  " 

"In  truth,  I  cannot;  I  have  tried  every  artifice,  but  she 
passes  all  my  wit  and  skill.  If  she  were  a  man,  1  wcju'ul 
have  drawn  her  very  teeth  out  with  less  difficulty  than  i  have 
tried  to  extract  the  name  of  this  lady.  When  I  was  the 
Charminij;  Josephine  of  Lake  Beauport,  i  could  wind  men 
like  a  thread  around  which  finger  I  liked  :  but  this  is  a  tan,;le(l 
knot  which  drives  me  to  despair  to  unravel  it." 

"  WHiat  dt)  you  know  about  her,  dame?  Tell  me  all  ymi 
suspect!"  said  Mere  Malheur. 

"Truly,"  replied  the  dame,  without  the  least  asi)eril\'.  •■  1 
suspect  the  poor  thing,  like  the  rest  of  us,  is  no  bettei  'han 
she  should  be;  and  the  Intendant  knows  it.  and  .XbuKiiiu' 
selle  des  Meloises  knows  it  too;  and,  to  judge  by  her 
constant  jorayers  and  penitence,  she  knows  it  heiselt  l)iit 
too  well,   and  will  not  say  it  to  me  !  " 

"  Ay,  dame  !  but  this  is  great  news  you  tell  me  ! '"  rrplieil 
Mere  Malheur,  eagerly  clutching  at  the  opportunity  tlui> 
offered  for  the  desired  inter\iew.  "  lUit  what  help  do  yuii 
expect  from  me  in  the  inatter  ? "  Mere  Maliieur  looked  very 
expectant  at  her  friend,  who  continued,  "  1  want  you  1"  sec 


MHKH    MALHEUR. 


439 


tliat  lady  under  promise  of  secrecy,  mark  you!  —  and  look 
at  lier  hands,  and  tell  me  who  and  what  she  is." 

Dame  'I'remblay  hatl  an  unlimited  faith  in  tiie  superstitions 
of  iier  aj;e. 

"1  will  do  all  you  wish,  dame,  but  you  must  allow  me  to 
jcc  her  alone,"  replied  the  crone,  wlio  felt  she  was  thus 
opening  the  door  to   La  Corriveau. 

"To  he  sure  I  will. —  that  is,  if  she  will  consent  to  be 
>fL'n,  f(jr  she  has  in  some  things  a  spirit  of  her  own!  1  am 
ifraid  to  push  her  too  closely!  The  mysteiyof  her  is  tak- 
\]vji^  the  flesh  off  my  bones,  and  1  can  onl\' get  sleep  by  taking 
strong  possets,  Mere  Malheur  I  I'eel  my  elbow!  Feel  my 
knee  !  1  ha\e  not  had  so  sharp  an  elbow  or  knee  since 
(;o(xhnan  Tremblay  died  !  And  he  said  I  had  the  sharpest 
elbow  and  knee  in  the  city!  l!ut  I  had  to  punch  him  some- 
•Jnics  to  keep  him  in  order !  lUit  set  that  iiorrid  cap  straight, 
Mere  Malheur,  while  1  go  ask  her  if  she  would  like  to  have 
her  fortune  told.  She  is  not  a  woman  if  she  would  not  like 
to  know  her  fortune,  for  she  is  in  despair,  1  think,  with  all 
the  world  ;  and  when  a  woman  is  in  despair,  as  I  know  by  my 
own  experience,  she  will  jump  at  any  chance  for  spite,  if  not 
for  love,  as  I  did  w  hen  I  took  the  Sieur  Trend^lay  by  your 
advice.  Mere  Malheur!" 

Dame  Tremblay  left  the  old  crone  making  hideous  faces 
in  a  mirror.  She  rubbed  her  cheeks  and  mouth  with  the 
corner  of  her  apron  as  she  proceeded  to  the  door  of  Caro- 
line's apartment.  She  knocked  gently,  and  a  low.  soft  voice 
hade  her  enter. 

Caroline  was  seated  on  a  chair  by  the  window,  knitting 
her  sad  thoughts  into  a  piece  of  work  which  she  occasionally 
liftLnl  fr(jm  her  lap  with  a  sudden  start,  as  something  broke 
die  train  of  her  re"<,'ctions. 

She  was  weighin  over  and  o\er  in  her  thoughts,  like  gold 
in  a  scale,  by  grain.,  and  pennyweights,  a  few  kind  words 
ialtdy  spoken  to  her  by  IJigot  when  he  ran  in  to  bid  her 
'Ulicu  before  departing  on  his  journey  to  Trois  Rivieres. 
riicy  seemed  a  treasiae  inexhaustible  as  she  kept  on  repeat- 
in;:;  them  to  herself.  The  pressure  of  his  hand  had  been 
wanner,  the  tone  of  his  \-oice  softer,  the  glance  of  his  eye 
more  kind,  and  he  looked  pityingly,  she  thought,  upon  her 
wan  face  when  he  left  her  in  the  gallery,  and  with  a  cheery 


440 


THE  GOLDEX  DOG, 


voice  and  a  kiss  hade  her  take  care  of  iier  iiealth  and  win 
back  tlie  lost  roses  of  Acadia. 

'I'hese  words  pass(;d  throuLijh  her  mind  with  unceasini; 
repetition,  iind  a  white  Ijorder  of  light  was  visible  on  iht 
edge  of  the  dark  cloud  which  hung  over  her.  "  Tiit'  roses 
of  Acadia  will  ne\'er  bloom  again,"  thought  she  sadl\-.  '-I 
iiave  watered  them  with  salt  tears  too  long,  and  all  in  \airi. 
()  iJigot,  I  fear  it  is  too  late,  too  lale  !  "  Still,  his  hi>t  look 
and  last  words  reliected  a  lliint  ray  of  hope  and  jov  u].)iiii 
her  pallid  countenan.ce. 

Dame  Tremblay  entered  the  apartment,  and  whik'  busy- 
ing herself  on  pretence  of  setting  it  in  order,  talked  in  hci 
garrulous  way  of  the  little  incidents  of  daily  life  in  the 
Chateau,  and  finished  by  a  mention,  as  if  it  were  ci'Muil.  of 
the  arrival  of  the  wise  woman  of  the  cit}',  who  knew 
everything,  who  could  interpret  dreams,  and  tell,  In  look- 
ing in  a  glass  or  in  your  hand,  things  past,  present,  ;uk1  lo 
come. 

"A  wonderful  woman."  Dame  Tremblay  said,  "a  perilous 
woman  too,  not  safe  to  deal  witii ;  but  for  all  that.  ever\  oiu' 
runs  after  her,  and  she  has  a  good  or  bad  woicl  for  rw-w 
person  who  consults  her.  For  my  part,"  continued  die 
dame,  "she  foretold  my  marriage  with  the  Goodman  rrnii- 
blay  long  before  it  happened,  and  she  also  foretcjld  liisdeaii 
to  the  very  month  it  hapjsened.  So  I  have  reason  to  belicvL' 
in  her  as  well  as  to  be  thankful  !  "' 

Caroline  listened  attentively  to  the  dame's  remarks.  Slit- 
was  not  superstitious,  but  yet  not  al)()vt:  the  beliefs  of  Iht 
age,  while  the  Indian  strain  m  her  lineage  and  her  fjniiliaiii\ 
with  the  traditions  of  the  Abena([uis  inclineil  Ivr  lo  \ii!il 
more  than  ordinary  respect  to  dreains. 

C'aroline  had  dreamed  of  riding  on  a  coal  l)lael;  Iidim, 
seated  behind  the  veiled  figure  of  a  man  whose  fact'  she 
could  not  see,  who  cari'ied  her  like  the  wind  awa_\  to  tlu' 
ends  of  the  earth,  and  there  shut  her  up  in  a  niounl.iin  fur 
ages  and  ages,  unlil  a  bright  angel  cleft  the  rock,  and.  <  Lisp- 
ing her  in  his  arms,  bore  her  up  to  hght  and  liberty  ni  tlie 
presence  of  the  Kedeemer  and  of  all  the  host  of  hea\'e.ii. 

'i'his  dream  lav  he.ivw  on  her  mind.  h'or  the  \'eiled  hiiuw 
she  km  w  was  one  she  lo\ed,  but  who  had  no  iionesl  lo\e  t'l 
her.      Her  mind  had  been  broodiuL'  o\er  the  dream  all  ^^\'■ 


MERE    MALllKUK. 


441 


lealth  and  win 


iiicl  tilt;  nnnoiincenient  by  Daiiic  Treinblay  of  the  presence 
;ii  the  Cliateau  of  one  who  was  able  to  interjiret  (h'eanis 
seemed  a  stroke  of  fortune,  if  not  an  act  of  Providence. 

She  roused  herself  up,  and  with  more  animation  than 
Dame  Tremblay  had  yet  seen  in  her  countenance,  requested 
iicr  t(;  send  up  the  visitor,  tiiat  she  mi<j;iu  ask  her  a  question. 

Mere  Maliieur  was  quickly  summoned  to  the  apartment  ui 
Caroline,  where  Dame  'I'remblay  left  them  alone. 

Tile  repulsive  look  of  the  old*rone  sent  a  shock  through 
;iio  line,  nervous  organization  of  the  young  girl.  She  re- 
quested Alere  Malheur  to  be  sealed,  however,  and  in  her 
,\ntle  manner  questioned  her  about  the  dream. 

Mere  Malheur  was  an  adept  in  such  things,  and  knew 
well  how  to  humor  human  nature,  antl  lead  it  to  put  its  own 
interpretations  upon  its  own  visions  and  desires  while  giving 
ill  the  credit  of  it  to  herself. 

Mere  Malheur  therefore  interpreted  the  dream  according 
!()  Caroline's  secret  wishes.  'I'his  inspired  a  sort  of  conti- 
iltncc,  and  Mere  Malheur  seized  the  opportunity  to  deliver 
•iic  letter  from  La  Corrix'eau. 

"My  Lady,"  said  she,  looking  carefully  round  che  room 
to  note  if  the  door  was  shut  and  no  one  was  present,  "  I  can 
icil  you  more  than  the  interpretation  of  your  dream.  I  can 
■lil  who  you  are  and  why  you  are  here!  " 

Caroline  started  with  a  frightened  look,  and  stared  in  tiie 
:acL' of  Mere  Malheur.  She  faltered  out  at  length,-  "You 
^now  who  I  am  and  why  I  am  heie  ?  Impossible  !  1  never 
wv  \.)u  before." 

■No,  my  Lady,  you  never  saw  me  before,  but  I  will  con- 
vince you  that  I  know  you.  You  are  the  daughter  of  the 
liiion  lie  St.  ('astin  !  Is  it  not  so?"  'I'he  old  crone  looked 
;|■;^htf^lly  knowing  as  slie  uitfred  these  W(jrds. 

"Mother  of  mercies!  what  shall  I  do?"  ejaculated  the 
alarmed  girl.     "  Who  are  you  to  say  that  ?  " 

"1  ;un  but  a  messenger,  in\-  Ladv.  Listen!  I  am  sent 
iiere  to  give  you  secretly  this  letter  ftom  a  friend  who  knows 
you  better  than  I,  and  who  above  all  things  desires  an  inter- 
view with  you,  as  she  has  things  of  the  dee|)est  import  to 
communicate." 

"  A  letter  !  ( )h,  what  my.stery  is  all  this  ?  A  letter  for  me  I 
1'  it  from  the  Intend. ml  ?  " 


442 


THK    (lOLDKX    DOG. 


"  No,  my  Lndy,  it  is  from  a  woman."  Caroline  hlushtd 
and  trembled  as  she  took  it  from  the  old  crone. 

A  woman  !  It  Hashed  upon  the  mind  of  Carcjline  thai  the 
letter  was  important.  She  o[)ened  it  with  tremblinij;  fnvcr.s. 
anticipating  she  knew  not  what  direful  tidings  when  her 
eyes  ran  over  the  clear  handwriting. 

La  Corriveau  had  written  to  the  effect  that  she  was  an 
unknown  friend,  desirous  of  serving  her  in  a  moment  of 
peril.  The  IJaron  de  St.  C.'astin  had  traced  her  to  W-v 
h'rance,  and  had  procured  from  the  King  instructions  to  the 
Governor  to  search  for  her  e\'ery where  and  to  send  lur  tn 
France.  Other  things  of  great  import,  the  writer  said,  vir 
had  also  to  connnunicate,  if  Caroline  would  grant  her  a 
private  interview  in  the  Chateau. 

There  was  a  passage  leading  frr)m  the  old  deserted  watch- 
tower  to  the  vaulted  chamber,  continued  the  letter,  and,  the 
writer  would  without  '"urther  notice  come  on  the  folhjwin^ 
night  to  Heaumanoir,  and  knock  at  the  arched  door  of  her 
chamber  about  the  hour  of  midnight,  when,  if  CaroHiie 
pleased  to  admit  her.  she  would  gladlv  inform  her  of  \erv 
important  matters  relating  to  herself,  to  the  Intendant.  and 
to  the  IJaron  de  St.  Castin,  who  was  on  his  way  out  [n  ihie 
Colonv  to  conduct  in  person  the  search  after  his  hi^t 
daughter. 

The  letter  concluded  with  the  information  that  the  Intend- 
ant had  gone  to  Trois  Rivieres,  whence  he  might  not  return 
for  a  week,  and  that  during  his  absence  the  Governor  would 
probably  order  a  search  for  her  to  be  made  at  r>(,'auinan(iir. 

Caroline  hedd  the  letter  conNulsixelv  in  her  hand  as  .shr 
gathered  its  purport  rather  than  read  it.  Her  face  chan<;iHl 
color,  from  a  deep  Hush  of  shame  to  the  |)alest  hue  of  fear. 
when  she  c;omprehended  its  meaning  and  understood  dial 
her  father  was  o!i  his  way  to  New  I'rance  to  find  (Uit  hii 
hiding-place. 

-  \Vhat  shall  I  do  !  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ! '"  exclaimed  sh  , 
wringing  her  hands  for  vtM-y  anguish,  regardles-  of  ll^ 
jjresence  of  Mere  Malheur,  who  stood  observing  in  r  \\i;i 
eyes  glittering  with  curiosity,  but  void  of  every  imuk  ^'i 
womanly  sympath}-  or  feeling. 

"My  father,  my  l()\ing  father!"  continued  ('aioliiu',  "  my 
dei'jdy-injured  father  (  onui'i';  here  with   anger  in   M     aci'lui 


MKRl",    MALlIiaiK. 


443 


iroline  blushed  J  ^ni'4  nie  from  my  conccalmcnl  !  I  shall  drop  dead  at 
his  foot  tor  very  shame.  ( )h,  that  I  were  buried  ali\-e 
■,\ith  mountains  piled  o\er  me  to  hide  me  from  my  father! 
What  shall  1  do?     Whither  shall    1  go?      liigot,  Uigot,  why 


lat  she  was  an 
a  moment  of 
d  her  to  New 
tructions  to  the 
to  send  iuT  in 
ai'iter  said,  shx 


deserted  watch- 

:  letter,  ami  the 

a   the   tollowin;^- 

ed  dour    of  hn 

en,   if    Caroline 

irm  her  of  \eiy 

Intendant,  and 

way  out  lo'  the 

after    his  kj^t 

that  the  Iiitcnd- 
iii;;'ht  no!  re'turn 
Io\'ernor  would 
il  ileaumaiioir. 
er  hand  as  >he 
ir  face  chan,iied 
est  hue  of  fear. 
imderstiHnl  ih^i 
1o   liiul  (Uit  hi'i 


i'ardles'-    of    ti" 

.■rving  In  r  \\\''' 

every  mark  -: 

1  ( 'aroliui',  "  my 
in   lii    'aer  t" 


MVC 


vou  forsaken  nu; 


Mere  Malheur  continued  eyeing  her  with  cold  curiosity, 
bii  \\as  readv  at  the  first  moment  to  secontl  the  promptings 
(i;  i.hc  t-'vil  spu'it  contained  in  the  letter. 

ay    to 


M 


ufemoiseile, 


said    slie. 


thei 


e    IS    i)Ut    one    w 


esca 


pe  from  the  search  to  be  made  by  your  father  and  tin? 
(liivernor,  —  take  counsel  of  her  vho  sends  you  tiiat  friendly 
idler.  She  can  olVer  you  a  safe  hiding-place  until  the 
;iuini  blows  over.      Will  y(ju  see  her,  iny  J.ady?" 

"See  her!  I,  who  dare  see  no  one!  Who  is  she  that 
,<iuls  nie  such  strange  news?  Is  it  tiuth?  Do  nou  know 
her?"  continued  she,  looking  fixedly  at  Mere  Malheur,  as 
if  in  hope  of  reading  on  her  countenance  some  contradiction 
ul  llic  matter  contained  in  the  letter. 


tlim 


k  it 


is  all  true,  m\ 


Lady 


replied   she,  wT  a  mot 


:k 


humility  ;  "I  am  but  a  jjoor  messenger,  howex'er,  ai  A  sj)eak 
not  inv->elf  of  things  I  do  not  know,  but  she  who  sends  me 
■Aiil  tell  you  all." 

'Does  the  Intendant  know  her?'' 

"I  liiink  he  told  her  to  watch  over  your  safety  during  his 
ai)sciu'e.  She  is  okl  and  ycnir  friend;  will  you  see  her?" 
replii'd  Mere  Malheur,  who  saw  the  point  was  gainetl. 

"Oil,  yes,  yes  !   tell  her  to  come.      IJeseech  her  not  to  fail  to 


conic,  or  1  slial 


ro  n 


lad.     ()  woman,  vou  too  are  old  and 


experienced  and  ought  to  know, 


can  she  help  me  in  this 


Mraii,  think  you?"   exclaimed  Caroline,  clasj^ing  her  hatuh 
i'l  .1  ^cslure  of  entreaty. 
"No  one  is  more  able  to  help  you,"  said  the  crone,   "  she 
111  eouiisej   \'ou  what  lo  do.  and   if   nvcd  be  find   means  to 


■lice, 


you  from  tiie  search  th.il  will  be  made 


f.u- 


"  I  I'.ste,  then,  and   Itid   lui    e<i 
't  to  lULdit  ?  "    ( 'aroliin'    was   all    n 


on. 


nie  to-moiidw   niuht !     Wh\' 


MAous    impatience 


wait  her  connnu  in  the  vaulted  chaml)er 


I 


w 


wal(  h 


Kh 


I'lr  her  as  one  in  the  valley  of  death  walejies  for  the  .injj,el  of 
v<  ranee,  bid  her  come,  and  at  midnight  to-morrow  she 
il   .ind   the  door  of   the  secret  chamber  open    to   .idmit 


acii 


iier, 


444 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


The  eagerness   of   the  ill-fated  girl  to  see  La  Corriveau 
outran  every  calculation  of  Mere  Malheur.      It  was  in  vain 
and  useless  for  lier  to  speak  further  on  the  subject;  ('an,. I 
line  would  say  no  more.      Her  thoughts  ran   xiolently  in  the 
direction  suggested  by  the  artful  letter.      She  would  >fe  i,a: 
Corriveau  to-morrow  night,  and  would  make  no  more  avowals  i 
to  Mere  Malheur,  she  said  to  herself. 

Seeing  no  more  was  to  be  got  out  of  her,  the  C'-onc  Ijacic 
her  a  formal  farewell,  looking  at  her  curiously  as  she  did  ^u, 
and  wcjndering  in  her  mind  if  she  should  ever  see  hei  auaiii. 
For  the  old  creature  had  a  shrewd  suspicion  that  l,a  (  nr- 
riveau  had  not  tcjld  her  all  her  intentions  with  respect  lo  ihi:, 
singidar  girl. 

Caroline  returned  her  salute,  still  holding  the  letter  in  In  r 
hand.  She  sat  down  to  peruse  it  again,  and  observed  not 
Mere  Malheur's  ecpiivocal  glance  as  she  turned  her  eve^  for 
the  last  time  upon  the  innocent  girl,  doomed  to  receive  the 
midnight  visit  fiom  La  ("orriveau. 

'•There  is  death  in  the  pot!"  the  crone  muttered  as  she 
went  out,  —  "La  Corriveau  comes  not  here  on  lur  dwii 
errand  eitiier  !  That  girl  is  too  beautiful  to  live,  and  to 
some  one  her  death  is  worth  gold!  It  will  go  hard,  luil  La 
Corriveau  shall  share  with  me  the  reward  of  the  work  nl 
to-morrow  night !  " 

In  the  long  gallery  she  encountered  Dame  'I'rcmblav 
"ready  to  eat  her  up."  as  she  told  La  Corriveau  afterw.uds, 
in  tile  eagerness  of  her  curiosity  to  learn  the  result  of  her 
inter\iew  with  Caroline. 

Mere  Malheur  was  wary,  and  accustomed  to  fenci'  with 
words.  It  was  necessarv  U)  tell  a  lony  tale  of  circtunsiame^ 
to  i)ame  'i'remblay.  but  not  necessai'y  nor  desirable  to  tell 
the  liuth.  Tlu,'  old  crone  theicfore,  as  soon  as  she  had 
seated  herself  in  the  easy  chair  of  the  housekeei)er  am 
refreslied  herself  by  twice  accepting  the  dame's  |)iessii)L; 
invitation  to  tea  and  cognac,  related  with  uplifteil  ha^l!^ 
and  shriking  iiead  a  narrative  of  bold  lies  regarding  wlia!  had 
!';ally  passed  during  her  interview  with  ('arnline. 

"  ilut  who  is  she,  Mere  MallKun  ?  Did  she  tell  you  Iht 
nuiie?      Did     he  show  \dii  hei'  p.ilm?" 

'■  !ot!i,  .  me.  both!  She  is  a  girl  of  V'ille  Marie  wlie  ha- 
ran  away  'rom  her  parents  for  lo\-e  o''  the  gaiunii  Inlenuani, 


MlA-iE    MALillX'K. 


445 


11  respect  Ui  il 


:  III 
or 


and  is  in  hiding  from  them.  They  wanted  to  ])ut  her  into 
;ho  (!onvent  to  cure  her  of  love.  'JMu;  Convent  always  cures 
ove,  (lame,  beyond  the  power  of  philtres  to  re\i\e  it  !  "  and 
liic  old  crone  laughed  inwardly  to  herself,  as  if  she  doubted 
her  own  saying. 

Kauer  to  return  to  I. a  ('()rii\eau  with  the  account  of  her 
successful  interview  with  Caroline,  she  bide  Dame 'I'temblay 
.ih.istybut  formal  farewell,  and  with  iier  crutched  stick  in 
;.cr  hand  trudged  stoutly  back  to  the  city. 

Mere   Malheur,  while   the  sun   was  yet   high,  reached   her 

iiuvn'e  under  tin;  rock,  where  La  C'orri\eau  was  eagerly 
•\|)eiiing  her  at  the  window.  The  moment  s!ie  entered,  the 
:,i,i>culine  voice  (;f  I<a  C.-orriveau  was  heard  .isking  loudly,    - 

••Ha\e  you  seen  her,  Mere  Malheur.^      hid  ;^t)u  give  her 
;n' letter .''     Never  mind  your  hat  !  tjll  me  before  you  take 
The  old  crone  was  tugging  at  the  strings,  and  La 

irriveau  came  to  help  her. 

•'  \'es !  she  took  your  letter,"  replied  she,  impatiently. 
■.She  took  my  story  like  spring  water.  (lO  at  the  stroke  of 
lAelve  to-monow  night  and  she  will  let  you  in,  Dame  Dodier; 
iiiit  will  she  let  you  out  again,  eh  .'' "  'IMie  crone  stood  \\it!i 
ii'ir  hat  in  her  hand,  and  looked  with  a  wicked  glance  at  La 
I  orriveau. 

"If  she  will  let  me  in,  I  shall  let  myself  out.  Mere  Mal- 
iieur,"  replied  Corriveau  in  a  Ujw  tone.  "  but  why  do  you 
,bk  that  ? " 

"because  I  read  mischief  in  your  eye  and  see  it  twitchin 
:n  yuur  thuml),  ami  you  do  not  ask  me  to  share  your  secret 
Is  it  so  bad  as  that,  l):ime  Dodier?" 

"  I'shaw !  you  are  sharing  it !  wait  and  you  will  see  your 

^haie  of  it!      Hut  tell  me.  Mere  Malheur,  how  does  she  lo"k, 

lis  mysterious  lady  of  the  ( 'luUeau  ?  ""      La  ("orriveau      it 

tl'jwn,  and  placed  her  long,  thin  hand  on  the  arm  of  tl     >  id 

crone. 

"bike  one  doomed  to  die.  because  she  is  too  good  to  li.c. 
Surrdw  is  a  bad  pasture  for  a  young  creature  like  her  to  feed 
on,  Dame  Dodier!"  was  the  answer,  Ijut  it  did  not  chanu'  a 
muscle  on  the  face  of  La  C'orri\eau. 


.\\  !   bui  there  are  worse  |)astureN  than  sorrow  U 


young 


cro;Uiiies  like    her,   anrl    she    has  found   one  of   ihein,"   .■.i  e 
icplied,  coldly. 


44^ 


THi:  (.ui.I)i:n   dog 


Well  !   :is  w('  iiiakt;  our  bed  so  nuist  we  lie   on 


i'.iiii 


I  )odier,  that  is  what  I  always  tell  Ihe  silly  yoiiiii 
who  come  to  nie  asking  their  forliines ;  and  thu  prowib 
pleases  them.  They  always  think  the  bridal  l)ed  niu.^t  lie 
S(jlt  and  well  made,  at  any  rate." 


Th 


e\'  arc 


f(j()ls;   better  make  their  death-bed  t 


lan  tlu;;r 


l)ri(l;u  heel 


lUit  1  must  see  this  piece  of  perfection  ot  vuui 


to-morrf)w  iiiLiht,  dame!     The  Inteiulant  returns  in  t 


\\ii 


av; 


uid  he  miiilit  remove 


her. 


)id 


she 


tell 


you  about  liim 


No  !     iiigdt   is  a  devil   more   powerful   than   the 


one  w 


ser\e. 


dan 


)e 


tear  hnn 


"'I'ut!    I  fear  neither  de\il  nor  man. 


It 


was  to  be  at  i!it 


lour  o 


f 


iwel\-e 


i)i( 


Mere  Malheui 


\(ni   not  say 


at    the   hour 


ol    twelvt 


Yes !    i2o    in   bv  the   \aulted   passage   and   k 


noc 


ai 


iiij 


secret  door.     She  will  admit  \ou.     lUit  what  will  you  do  wnii 
her,    Dame    I  )o(lier  ?      Is  she  doomed.''      Could    you   n(jt  lie 


irentle  wi 


th 


her.  (lame 


There  was   a   fall    in    the   voice   of    Mere  Malheur, --an 


intonation    partly  due   to  fear  of   consequences,  partlv  t 


libre  ot    pity   which 


d 


rv 


md  d 


isusec 


somethih! 


ill 


tlu' 


look  of  Taroline  had  stirred  like  a  dead  leaf  quiv 
the  wind. 


etini:'  in 


Tut!   has  .<he  melted   your  old  drv  heart  to  pitv,  >J 


(■;c 


Malheur!  lia,  ha!  who  would  liave  thought  that!  \w\A  yet 
1  rememl)er  she  made  a  soft  fool  of  me  for  a  minute  in  the 
wood  of  vSt.  Valier!'"  l.a  Corriveau  spoke  in  a  hard  tone,  .u 
if  in  reproving  Mere  Malheur  she  was  also  reproxing  b.er.sell. 


Sh 


e  is   rmlike  anv  other  woman 


I 


ever  saw, 


rei 


crone,  ashamed  of  her  unwonteil  sympathy, 


TI 


le  ilcMl  IS 


clean  out  of  her  a> 
Vou    are    a    fool 


out  of  a  church. 


Mc 


Mall 


leur 


Out    of    a    clunxh. 


ciuotha!"  and  I. a  ("orri\eau   lauiihed   a   hjud  lau^h  ; 


wliv 


;hur( 


•If 


;o   to  church   m}'selt,  an^l  whisper  my  prayers   bacKwaiii 


ke 


ep  OH  terms  wii.i 


the  de\il,  who  stands   noddi 


nil'  he 


hill 


the  altar  to  every  one  of  my  petitions,       that   is  more  lliaii 
some  jieople  get  in  nturn  for  their  prayers,"  added  si 


ie 


I 


i)r 


^}' 


backwards  m 


hurt 


h  to( 


),  (lame, 


l)U 


t    \  could  never 


Of! 


me 


sight  of  him  there,  as  you  do:  soiiuthing  alwa}^  bliiub 
and    tlie    two    old    sinners    lauuhed    touether  at   iIk 


thouLiht  of  the  devil 


litanies  they  recited  in  the  chui 


MKKI.    MAI.IIKl'N. 


447 


le  on  n.  !  )aiii,. 
ly  youn,^  ihinn^ 
id  the  pi(>\cil) 
il   l)e(l  imi>t  !)c 

-1)lh1   tli;in  tlu'ir 
feclioii  ot  vuui.> 
nis  in  lud  d;iv.\ 
aboul  liim  ?" 
lan   the  one  \\c 

as  to  he  at  i!ic 
hour  f)t    twelve, 

il  knock  at  lli.' 
A  ill  \oii  do  Willi 
.dd   you  not  he 


L    of    a    chiircii, 

lauj;h  ;  "•  why  1 

>   bac'kw.ncU  i  ' 

nodding  hchiii'; 

U     is    IIIOIL'   lll.tll 

added  she', 
111  I  coiihl  iK'Ver 
j;  always  bliiuN 
Lo-ethcr  at   ihc 
the  clum,  h. 


Hut  how  to  ve-l  to  luMnnianoir  ?     I  shall  ha\e  to  walk,  as 


vmi 


(lid,  Mere  Malheur.      it  is  a  vile  road,  aiMJ    I  nuis 


t  lak( 


[he  byway  throuL;h   the  forest.      It  were  worth   my  life  to  be 
jeen  on  this  visit,  "  said  La  ("orri\eau.  conuini;  on  her  fui_a;ers 
ihc  dit'ticulties  of  the  by-path,  which  she  was  well  acciuainled 
■;.\[\\,  however. 
•There   is    a    moon    after   nine,  by    which    hour    you  c;ui 


riMch 


th 


e     wdO( 


1    of     beaunianoir,"     observed    the     croin 


\ie  \()U  sure  you   know   the  wa}',  Dame 


1); 


1  )odi 


er 


.\s  well   as  the   way  into   m\  <j;()wn  I      I   know   an  Indian 

uinolier    who    will    ferry    nie    acioss    to    iieauport,   and   s;iy 

n,it!iini;.       1    dare    not    allow    that    pi\in;j,    knave,     [cui    I.e 

N.  ill  ' 

"Well  thoutrht  of.  Dame  Dodier  ;   vou  aie  of  a  craft  and 


er,   or  his  sliarp  wile,  to  mark  m\    moxements. 


)tlety  to  cheat    Satan   himself    at    a    <;ame    of 


hidt 


and 


MX* 


k 


'I'he  crone  looked  with  LLcnuine  admiration,  almost 


iship,   at  I.a  C'orriveau  as  she  said  this;   "  i)ut    I    doubt 


Ia'  W 


ill    lind   both  of  us  at   last,  dame,  whe 


n   we   ha\e   ii{jl 


into  our  last  corner. 


Well,   r(>'JUc'  la   trci/rn 


;nL^  ui 


and 


Let  it  CO  as  it  wil 


exclaimed  T>a  Corrivca,  start- 
1!  I  shall  walk  to  neaumauoir, 
I  shall  fancy  1  wear  p;olden  garters  and  siher  slippers  to 
make  the  way  easy  and  pleasant,  jjut  you  must  be  hungr\', 
mure,  with  \-our  long  tramp.  I  have  a  suj;per  prepared  for 
vou,  so  come  and   eat   in    the  devil's   name,   or    I    shall   be 


tciii 


pted  to   say  grace    ///   nomine  Domini^   and   choke    yoi 


The  t 


wo  wom 


en  went  to  a  small  table  and  sat  down  to  a 


plentiful  meal  of  such  things  as  formed  the  dainties  of  p(,'i- 
Mi;;s  of  their  rank  of  life.      U]3on   the  table  stood  the  dish  ol 


M'.L'e 


tineats  which  the  thiex'ish   niaidsei\  ant 


l)rouuht  to 


Mete   Malheur  with  the  groom's   .^tor}'  of   the   coiu'ersalion 
IctAe^n    l)igot   and    Varin,  a   story   which,  could   Angeiirpie 

;()t  hold  of  it,  would  ha\e  stoj)|)ed  at  once  her  frightful 

t  kill  the  utdini)i)y  (  aroliiK.'. 

were   a  fool    to  tell    Ih'I'   th;it    storv   of    the    uroom's," 


l,i\e 
:!(it  \ 


niiutered   La  ( "orriveau    to  heiseif,    "and   s-poi 
(.'xpcriinent  of  the  (Kjna  fi'fiuia  ever  made,  and   ii 


tlu 


f: 


11  est 


lortune  too 


IcUi: 


;now   a 


trick 


worth   two  ot    that. 


1111  up;  o\'  n 
:uul    she 


(1   inwardly  to   herself  a  laugh  whii  li   was  leaicateii    in 


wA\  and  made  i.ierry  the  ghosts  of  Deatiice  Spaia,  1 
l-i  \Ti.sin. 


\ii 


aiu 


44'S 


THE  (;()IJ)i:n   dog. 


All    n(;\t  flay   La  ( "oirivcau    kept    closely  tf)    li-r    liniis, 
hut    she   found    means    to    tonimunicate    to    Anj^erKuic  h,  ; 
intention  to  visit   iSeaunianoir  that  nii^ht. 

'i'he  news  was  i^rateful,  \et  strangely  nu)\  in^  to  An^eli'nc  . 
she  trembled  and  turned  jjale,  not  for  truth,  hut  lor  d(juht  an.i 
dread  of  possible  failure  or  discovery. 

She  sent  by  an  unknown  hand  to  the  liouse  oi  Muv 
Malheur  a  little  basket  containing;  abou'juet  of  njses  sn  jjeau 
tifui  and  fragrant  that  they  miij,ht  have  been  plucked  in  tln' 
f^aixlen   of   Kden, 

La  C'orri\eau  carried  the  l^asket  into  an  iiuier  chamljcr. 
a  small  room,  the  window  of  which  never  saw  the  sun.  Imt 
opened  against  the  close,  overhanging  rock,  which  was  v. 
near  that  it  ndght  lie  touched  by  the  hand.  The  (l.iik. 
damp  wall  of  the  cliff  shed  a  gloomy  obscuril}  in  thr  riKjin 
e\en  at  midday. 

The  small  black  eyes  of  La  Corriveati  glittered  likr 
poniards  as  slie  opened  the  basket,  and  taking  om  li  • 
boucpiet,  found  attached  to  it  by  a  riblion  a  silk' ii  juiv 
C(jntaining  a  number  of  glittering  pieces  of  gold.  Shr 
pressed  the  coins  to  her  cheek,  and  e-.en  put  them  beiwcLii 
her  lips  to  taste  their  sweetness,  for  money  she  loved 
teyond  all  things.  'I'he  passion  of  her  soul  was  awuice;  lur 
\v.ckedness  took  its  direction  from  the  lo\e  of  money,  and 
scrupled  at  no  iniquity  for  the  sake  of  it. 

She  placed  the  purse  carefidly  in  her  bosom,  and  look  i:]) 
the  roses,  regarding  them  with  a  Strang'^  look  of  admiraiion 
as  she  muttered,  "  I'hey  are  beautiful  and  they  are  .^weci 
men  would  ci.ll  them  inriocent !  they  are  like  her  who  sen; 
them,  fair  witliout  as  yet;  like  her  who  is  to  receive  '.Ikp  . 
fair  within."  She  stood  reflecting  for  a  few  nioiiient--.  aia. 
e.Kclaimed  as  she  laid  the  bou^iuet  upon  the  table. 

"  Angelique  des  Meloi.ses.  you  .send  your  gold  iUul  y;;: 
roses  to  me  because  vou  believe  me  t(j  be  a  wor>e  il-ni'i:; 
than  yourself,  but  you  are  worthy  to  be  crowned  {o-nighl  wiil 
these  roses  as  tpieen  of  hell  and  mistress  of  all  llie  wilciK- 
that  ever  met  in  (Irand  Sabbat  at  the  palace  of  (lalicn;; 
where  Satan  sits  on  a  throne  of  gold  !  " 

T^a  ( 'orriveau  looked  out  of  the  window  and  saw  a  ^<   :- 
of  the  rock  lit  uj.)  willi  the   last   ray  of   the  setting  sun.     > 
knew  it  was  time  lo  i)re[)are  for  her   journe}-.      She  ioo^^*!!' 


MICKI",    MAl.majK. 


449 


to    tlH'    il()^l^^■, 
iVn^clKiuc  her 


to  Anm.'li(jMt.'; 
tOr  (i(ml)t  an.l 

ousc  oi  Mere 
rosf  s  .S'  I  beau- 
plucked  in  ilic 

muT  chamber, 
w  llu:  sun.  but 
which  was  vi 
\.  The  (huk, 
L\  in  ihe  I'liuiii 

glitiercd  like 
takiiv4  oui  the 
a  silk'  n  jiur>e 
of  p;ol(l.  She 
I  ihcni  luiween 
ney    she    lo\e(i 

IS  avarice :  her 
of  monev.  and 


m,  and  louk  uj) 
of  aduiiraiion 
u;\'  are  .^weei . 
;  her  who  sen; 
recei\e  OieP:. 
nionieni^.  aue 
table, 

.<4old  and  yi ''>::■ 
I  worse  deiii'iii 
ed  to-ni,ulil  will' 
all  the  wileiic- 
(.-  of  (".alien;  !■• 


) 


,i  saw  .1  c'le:' 
■niiiL^sun.     > '■ 
She  looseni.  . 


her  long  black  and  gray  clfin  hjcks,  and  let  them  fall  dis- 
htvelle'd  over  her  shoidders.  Her  thin,  cruel  lips  were  drawn 
to  a  rigid  line,  and  her  eyes  were  filled  with  red  tire  as  she 
uiew  the  casket  of  ebony  out  of  her  bosom  and  opened  it 
•iih  a  re\erenlial  touch,  as  a  dex'otee  woidd  touch  a  shrine 
, frolics.  She  took  out  a  small,  gilded  \ial  oi  anticjue  sha|)e, 
liiiilaining  a  clear,  hi  ight  licpiid,  w  hich,  as  she  shook  it  up, 
jccined  filled  with  a  million  sparks  of  lire. 

Before  drawing  the  glass  stopper  of  the  vial,  La  Cor- 
nvcaii  folded  a  handkerchief  carefully  over  her  mouth  and 
no^uils,  to  avoid  inhaling  the  \'olatile  essence  of  its 
poisonous  contents.  Then,  holding  the  bouquet  with  one 
i'uuul  at  arm's  length,  slie  sprinkletl  the  glowing  roses  with 
M  transparent  licpiid  from  the  vial  which  she  held  in  the 
oihcr  hand.  re})eating,  in  a  low,  harsh  tone,  the  formula  of 
.111  ancient  incantation,  which  was  one  of  the  secrets  im- 
:\irted   to   .\ntonio    I'Aili   by  the   terrible    Beatrice  Spara. 

ba  ( 'orriveau  repeated  by  rote,  as  she  had  learned  fr(;m 
iier  mother,  the  ill-omened  words,  hardly  knowing  their 
meaning.  l)eyond  that  the}'  were  something  very  potent  antl 
very  wicked,  which  had  been  handed  down  through  genera- 
lions  of  poisoners  and  witches  from  the  tinies  of  heathen 
Rome  : 

"  ' Ilccaten  voco  ! 
Voco  Tisiphonem ! 

Spargens  avernales  acpias, 
Te  murti  clevoveo,  tc  diris  ago  !  ' " 

The  terri1)le  drops  of  the  tU/U(r  fiifana  glittered  like 
aew  on  the  glowing  Howers,  taking  away  in  a  moment  all 
liieir  tragrancj,  while  lea\ing  all  their  l)eauLy  unimpaired. 
Ihc  jioison  sank  into  the  very  luMrts  of  the  roses,  whence 
ii  breaUietl  death  from  e\-ery  petal  and  every  leaf,  leaving 
'.'iim  fair  as  she  who  had  sent  ihem,  but  fatal  to  ihe 
approach  of  lip  or  nostril,  tit  emblems  of  her  unpitxiug 
Mlc  and  remorseless  jealousy. 

La  ("orrix-eau  wrapped  the  bouquet  in  a  medicated  jiajicr 
'jf  siKer  tissue,  which  prevented  the  escape  of  the  \(jlatile 
Jcath,  and  replacing  the  roses  carefully  in  the  basket, 
prepared  for  her  departure  to   Ut-'aumanoir. 


CHAPTKR    XL. 

QLU  )'|- H     in  I-;    R  A \- 1'. X ,    "  N  K V  i; K  M ( ) R  F-: ! ' ' 

I 'I'  was  the  eve  of  vSt.  Michael.  A  (|uiet  aiitui^.iiia!  lu-h: 
brooded  over  tlie  forest  of  Heaunianoir.  The  lunmi.  n; 
her  wane,  had  risen  hite,  and  strui^iijled  feebl}-  anions  ili, 
broken  clouds  that  were  gathering  slowly  in  the  east,  iiidiui 
tive  of  a  storm.  She  shed  a  dim  light  through  the  u}Mk.- 
and  thickets,  just  enough  to  discover  a  path  where  the  dark 
figure  of  a  woman  made  her  way  swiftly  and  cautiou^iv 
towards  the  Chateau  of  the   Intendant. 

She  was  dressed  in  the  ordinary  costume  of  a  |H,'asani 
woman,  and  carried  a  small  basket  on  her  arm,  which,  liad 
she  opened  it,  would  have  been  found  to  contain  a  caiidlf 
and  a  bouquet  of  fresh  roses  carefully  covered  with  a  i)apci 
of  silver  tissue,  —  nothing  more.  An  honest  peasant-wonian 
would  have  had  a  rosary  in  her  basket,  but  this  was  no 
honest-peasant  woman,  and  she  had  none. 

The  forest  was  very  still, — -it  was  steeped  in  quietness. 
The  rustling  of  the  dry  leaves  under  the  feet  of  the  woman 
was  all  she  heard,  except  when  the  low  sigliing  of  the  wind, 
the  sharp  bark  of  a  fox,  or  the  shriek  of  an  owl,  broke  die 
silence  for  a  moment,  and  all  was  again  still. 

The  woman  looked  watchfully  around  as  she  glided  on- 
wards. The  path  was  known  to  her,  but  not  so  fannliaiiy 
as  to  prevent  the  necessity  of  stopping  every  few  iidmius  to 
look  about  her  and  make  siu'e  she  was  riirht. 

It  was  long  since  she  had  travelled  that  way,  and  she  \\.'.-> 
looking  for  a  landmark  —  a  gray  stone  that  stood  somowli!  ■ 
not  far  from  where  she  was,  and  near  which  she  knew  dial 
there  was  a  footpath  that  led,  not  directly  to  the  Chateau,  bui 
to  the  old  deserted  watch-tower  of  Heaumnnoir. 

'IMiat  stone  marked  a  spot  not  to  be  forgotten  1)\  Iili. 
for  it  was  the  memorial  of  a  deetl  of  wickedness  now  onl\ 
remembered  by   herself   and   by  Cod.      La   Corriveau  cared 

45° 


aothinf! 
(1(1(1   m 
vdncl.  t 
written 
On  tl 
.iir  lift 
Arillen 
:"(•-  on 
:,iii,llie, 
I  \aiiesc 
,ill  I.e  ( 

;!l(l      no 

:nci't_'  wl 
La   C 
,^'ui  riled 


nuoTii    Till.   KAVi'.N,   "  M".vi:km()KI': 


I 


451 


nothing  for  the  recollection.  It  was  not  terrible  to  her,  and 
0(1(1  made  no  sign;  but  in  his  great  book  of  account,  of 
uhicli  the  life  of  e\ery  man  and  woman  forms  a  i^age,  it  was 
written  down  and  remembered. 

On  the  secret  tablets  of  our  memory,  which  is  the  book  of 
,,111  life,  every  thought,  word,  and  ilrcd,  good  oi-  e\il,  is 
wiilten  down  indelibly  and  forever;  ar.d  the  iiuisible  pen 
;;()Lv-  nil  writing  day  after  day,  iiour  aftei  hour,  minute  aftei 
minute,  e\ery  thought,  e\en  the  idlest,  e\ery  fancy  the  mos; 
ivanescei'.t :  nothing  is  left  out  of  oui'  book  of  life  which 
will  be  our  record  in  judgment  1  When  that  book  is  opened 
,111(1  no  secrets  are  hid.  what  son  or  daughter  of  Adam  is 
ihere  who  will  not  need  U)  say,  "(lod  be  merciful  ?  " 

La  ("orrixeau  canie  suddenl\-  upon  the  gra\-  stone.  It 
startled  her,  for  its  rude  contour,  standing  u|)  in  the  pale 
moonlight,  put  on  the  a))i)earance  of  a  wouum.  She  thought 
>\\c  was  discovered,  and  she  heard  a  noise;  but  another 
:;laiice  reassured  her.  She  recognized  the  stone,  and  the 
noise  she  had  heard  was  only  the  scurrying  of  a  hare  among 
the  dry  leaves. 

The  habitans  held  this  spot  to  be  haunted  by  the  wailing 
spirit  of  a  woman  in  a  gray  robe,  who  had  been  poisoned  by 
a  jealous  lover.  La  C'orriveau  ga\e  him  sweatmeats  of  the 
manna  of  St.  Nicholas,  which  the  woman  ate  from  his  hand, 
and  fell  dead  at  his  feet  in  this  trysting-place,  where  they 
met  for  the  last  time.  The  man  fled  to  the  forest,  haunted 
by  a  remorseful  conscience,  luid  died  a  retrilnitive  death :  he 
fell  sick,  and  was  de\om-ed  by  wolves.  La  ("orriveau  alone 
of  mortals  held  the  terrible  secret. 

La  ('orriveau  gave  a  low  laugh  as  she  saw  the  pale 
outline  of  the  woman  resohe  itself  into  the  gray  stone, 
"The  dead  come  not  again!"  muttered  she,  "and  if  they 
in  she  will  soon  have  a  companion  to  share  her  midnight 
walks  round  the  Chateau!"  La  ("oiri\eau  had  no  con- 
science; she  knew  not  remorse,  and  would  prol)ably  have 
felt  no  great  fear  luul  that  pale  spirit  re;ill}-  a|)j)eai"ed  at 
that  moment,  to  tax  her  with  wicked  complicity  in  her 
ni'irdiT. 

file  clock  of  the  (Ti;iteau  struck  IweUe.  Its  re\erber- 
Uions  sounded  far  into  llie  night  ;is  L;i  ('orriveau  emerged 
stealthily   out    of    the    foiest.    crouchmg    on    the    shady    side 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


K^ 


-'%^ 


1.0 


I.I 


■so  *^*     HHI 

■U  Uii    12.2 

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u  IIIII9H 


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tt 

6" 

.. 

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'/ 


S 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

WnSTIR.N.Y.  14580 

(716)S73-4S03 


i^>^ 


'^ 


s 


45- 


TME    fiOl.DF.X    DOC. 


of  the  lii^h  j^iirden   hedges,  until  she  reached  liu-  old  w.ihli 
tower,  which   .stood   Hke  a  i\ii[u\  sentinel  at  his  post  on  ihr 
flank  of  the  C'liateau. 

'I'liere  was   an   o[)en   doorway,  on   each   side  of   whiih  l!\ 
a   heap   of    fallen    stones.      'I'his   was    the   entranre    imo  .i 
square  room,  chirk  and  yawnin;j^  as  a  cavern,      it   wa:.  ii.u 
er.sed  hy  one  streak  of   moonshine,  which  stru^;;lcd  thidii^j, 
a  irrated  window  S(;t  in  the  thick  wall. 


lia  C!orri\eau   stood   for   a   few  moments   look 


in: 


IlllrluK 


into  the  i^loomy  ruin;   then,  casting;  a  sharp  ;j;lan(  e  lnh 


\u 


er,   she   entered 


Ti 


red 


with 


her    lon^   walk    ihroiiuli 


forest,  she   (hmj^   herself   upon    a   stone   seat   to    lest,  and  t 
collect  her  thou-rhts  for  the  execution  of   her  terr 


l)lc  mis- 


sion. 


'I'he  doLTs  of  the  Chateau  barked  vehemently,  a>  if  t 


U' 


very  air  bore  some  om 


inous  taint;  but  I,a  ("orrivea 


U    kllrV, 


she  was  safe:  they  were  shut  up  in  the  courtyard,  and  cou'! 
not  trace  her  to  the  tower.  A  h:irsh  \(jice  or  two  ;uul  lin 
sound  of  whips  presently  silenced  the  barkin;^  th'j^s,  ami  .il 
was  still  ajjjain. 

She  had  <rot  into  the  tower  unseen  and  unheard. 


IK'V 


ay 


ther 


e    IS   an    eve 


that 


sees   ever\thinii: 


nuitterci 


1   sli 


lUl 


and  an  ear  that  hears  our  very  thou^i;hts.      If  (lod  sees 
hears,  he  does  nothing  to  prevent  me  from  accompli^liin^ 
y  end  ;  and  he  will  not  interfere  to-night  !      No,  not  for  nil 


111 


DlOli.' 


the  prayers  she  may  utter,  which   will  not  be  many 
(lod —  if  there  be  one    -  lets  La  Corri\eau  li\e,  ;in(l  will  kt 
the  lady  of  IJeaumanoir  die  ! "' 

There  was  a  winding  stair  of  stone,  narrow  ;uid  toriuoiis. 
in  one  corner  of  the  tower.  It  led  ui)wards  to  the  roof  ami 
downwards  to  ;i  deep  \ault  which  was  arched  and  groiixi!, 
Its  hea\y,  rough  columns  supported  the  tower  al)o\c,  aiui 
divided  the  vaults  beneath.  These  vaults  had  fonnriiv 
served  as  magazines  for  provisions  and  stores  for  thr  iiv 
of  the  occupants  of  the  ("hrueau  upon  occasions  wlie 
had  to  retire  for  safet\'  from  a  sudtlen  irruption  of    li 

;ift  ' 


1  Ihrv 


■(Kllllll^ 


La   ("orriveau.   ;ifter   a   short  rest,   got    up  with   a  i 


iiu 


impatient    inoxement. 


SI 


le    went  over  to    an   arclud  d 


way  ujx)!!  w 


hich   her  eves  had   been   fixed  for  se\er;il 


min- 


utes.    "  The  way  is  down  there,"  she  muttered  ;  "  now  fur  a 
light  I  " 


Qucriii    riii;   k.wkn,   "  ni:\fkm()RK 


I  " 


453 


She  fouiKl  the  entrance  to  the  stair  open  ;  she  jiassed  in, 
clo.-iiiiij;  the  clocjr  behind  her  so  that  the  glimmer  might  not 
lie  seen  by  any  chance  stroller,  and  struck  a  light.  'I'he 
reputation  which  the  tower  had  of  being  haunted  made  the 
M.i\ ants  very  shy  of  entering  it,  even  in  the  day-time;  and 
the  man  was  considered  bold  indeed  who  came  near  it  after 
dark. 

Willi  her  candle  in  her  hand,  La  Corriveau  descended 
jldwly  into  the  gloomy  \ault.  It  was  a  large  cavern  of  stone, 
avciA'  hal)itation  of  darkness,  which  seemed  to  swallow  up 
tiie  feeble  light  she  carried.  It  was  dividetl  into  three  p(;r- 
i.oiis,  se]3araled  by  rough  columns. 

.\  spring  of  water  trickled  in  and  trickled  out  of  a  great 
>l()iK'  trough,  e\er  full  and  overtlowing  with  a  soft,  tinkling 
m.iuikI.  like  a  clepsydra  measuring  the  mo\«.'ments  of  eter- 
nilv.  The  cool,  fresh,  living  water  dilfusetl  througiiout 
the  \aults  an  even,  mild  temj^eiature  the  year  round.  'I'he 
gardeners  of  the  Chateau  took  adwintage  of  this,  and  used 
the  \  ault  as  a  favorite  storeroom  for  their  crops  of  fruit  and 
veg;clables  for  winter  use  in  the  Chateau. 

La  Corriveau  went  resolutely  forward,  as  one  who  knew 
what  she  sought  and  where  to  fmd  it,  and  presently  stood 
in  frdUt  of  a  recess  containing  a  wooden  panel  similar  to 
ihat  in  the  Chateau,  and  moval)le  in  the  same  manner.  She 
loasidered  it  for  some  moments,  muttering  to  herself  as  she 
held  aloft  the  candle  to  inspect  it  closely  and  find  the  spring 
i)y  which  it  was  moved. 

La  Corriveau  had  been  carefully  instructed  by  Mere  Mal- 
heur in  every  point  regarding  the  mechanism  of  this  door, 
.Mie  had  no  difliculty  in  fmding  the  secret  of  its  working. 
\  slight  touch  sufticed  when  the  right  i)lace  was  known. 
She  pressed  it  hard  with  her  hand  ;  the  panel  sw  ung  open, 
ind  hehiml  it  gapetl  a  dark,  nairow  passage  leading  to  the 
sccitt  chand)er  of  Caroline. 

She  entered  without  hesitation,  knowing  whither  it  led. 
It  was  damp  and  stilling.  Her  candle  burned  dimmer  and 
diiiiiner  in  the  im|)ure  air  of  the  long  shut-up  passage. 
There  were,  however,  no  other  obstacles  in  hei-  wa\'.  'The 
|'a>sa;j;L'  was  unincund)ered  ;  but  the  low  arch,  scarcely  ()\er 
lit^^r  n\vn  height,  seemed  to  press  down  upon  her  as  she 
p'bsetl  along,  as  if  to  prevent  her  progress.     The  fearless, 


454 


iiii-,  G()i.i)i:.\    \)()(i. 


wicked  licari  bore  her  up,  nothing  worse  than  htjisclf 
could  meet  her  ;  and  .she  felt  neither  fear  at  what  lay  IjlIok.' 
her  nor  renujrse  at  what  was  behind. 

'I'he  (hstance  to  be  traversed  was  not  far,  although  it 
seemed  to  her  imi)atience  to  be  interminable.  Merc  Mal- 
heur, with  her  li,u;ht  heels,  could  once  run  through  ii  in  a 
minute,  to  a  tryst  in  the  old  lower.  La  Corriveau  was  thrice 
that  time  in  ^ro|)in<;"  her  \\a\-  aU)nLj  it  before  she  came  lo  a 
hea\\',  iron-ril)l)ed  door  set  in  a  deej)  arch,  which  marked  the 
end  of  tlu'  |)assa,i:;e. 


That  l)lacls,  forbiddin>r  door  was  the  di\i(linLr  of 


!t    lliilll 


darkness,  of  i^ood  frc^m  e\il.  of  innocence  from  i^uili.  ( )ii 
one  side  of  it,  in  a  ciiamber  of  liL:;iit,  sal  a  fair  uirl.  t  outidiiiii. 
genercjus,  and  decei\ed  only  throui^h  iu-r  cxcos  ol  cvxrv 
\irtue;  on  the  oilier,  wickedness,  fell  and  artful,  was  approarli- 
in^  with  stealth}  footste]>s  throuuh  an  unseen  way,  and  stcmd 
with  hand  upraised  to  knock,  but  incapable  ol  LMUcrin;^  in 
unless  that  unsuspecting  girl  removed  the  bar. 

As  the  hour  of  midnight  apj^roaciied,  one  sound  afur 
another  died  away  in  the  Chateau.  Carolin.e,  who  had  ^al 
counting  the  houis  and  watching  the  speclial  moon  as  it 
llickered  among  the  drifting  clouds,  withdrew  from  liu; 
window  with  a  trembling  step,  like  one  going  to  her  iIoodi. 

She  descended  to  the  seciet  chand»er,  where  slif  had 
appointed  to  meet  her  strange  visitor  and  hear  from  .sliMn^o 
lips  ihe  story  that  would  be  h)\d  her. 

She  attired  herself  with  care,  as  a  woman  will  in  r\\r\ 
exlremily  of  life.  Her  dark  ra\en  hair  was  simjily  ari.iniiLcl. 
and  fell  in  thick  masses  o\'er  her  neck  and  shouldeis.  She 
put  on  a  robe  of  soft,  snow-white  texture,  and  by  an  iininilM- 
she  yielded  to,  but  could  not  explain,  bound  her  waisl  wiili.i 
black  sash,  like  a  strain  of  mourning  in  a  song  vi  iim 


SI 


le  wore  no  ornaments  sa\e  a  rui<r. 


the  1 


ove-uift  o 


0(  C'lU  (.'. 


!i;;ut. 
an- 


which  she  ne\er  parted  with,  but  wore  with  a  moil>id 
ticipalion  that  ils  promises  would  one  day  l)e  fullilled.  She 
clung  to  it  as  a  talisman  that  would  yet  conjure  away  lui 
sorrows;  and  it  did  1  but  alas!  in  a  way  littli'  anlitipatcil 
by  the  constant  girl  I  /\  blasl  from  hell  was  al  hand  t" 
swee]i  away  her  young  life,  and  with  it  all  her  e.nlhly 
troubles. 

She   took  up  a  guitar  mechanically,  iis   it   were,   and  a^ 


QUOTTl    TIIK    RAVKN,    "  NEVKKMORK  ! 


455 


iicr  fingers  wanclerod  over  the  strings,  a  bar  or  two  of  the 
vjciin,  sad  as  the  sigh  of  a  broken  lieart,  suggested  an  old 
Jittv  she  had  loved  formerly,  when  her  heart  was  full  of 
Hinshine  and  happiness,  when  her  fancy  used  to  indulge  in 
ihe  luxury  of  melancholic  musings,  as  every  happy,  sen- 
sitive, and  imaginative  girl  will  do  as  a  counterpoise  to  her 
high-wrought  feelings. 

In  a  low  voice,  sweet  and  plaintive  as  the  breathings  of 
an  .ilolian  harp,  Caroline  sang  her  Minne-song :  — 


<:  (»t  liLTJii  tiiiiii 


'A  linnet  s;it  upon  a  thorn 

At  evening  cliimf. 
Its  swc't't  ictiaiu  fell  like  the  rain 

( )f  Mimimr  time. 
Of  suniinur-tiiiie  when  roses  bloomed, 

Ami  l)ii,i^lit  iihove 
A  rainbow  spanned  my  fairy-land 

Of  hope  and  love  I 
Of  ho|)e  and  love  I   O  linnet,  cease 

Thy  mocking  theme  ! 
I  ne'er  picked  up  the  golden  cup 

In  all  my  dream  ! 
In  all  my  dreftni  I  missed  the  prize 

ShonUl  have  btMii  mine; 
And  dreams  won't  the!   though  fain  would  I, 

And  make  no  sign  i  '  " 


•r  of  iiiiioi'cinc. 


.t    were,    .md  a> 


The  lamps  burned  brightly,  shedding  a  cheerful  light  upon 
•he  landscapes  and  figures  woxeu  into  the  tapestry  behinil 
whit  h  was  concealed  the  black  door  that  was  to  admit  La 
lorriveau. 

1 1  was  oppressively  still.  Caroline  listened  with  mouth 
aiul  cars  for  some  soiuul  of  approaciiing  footsteps  until  her 
ik-ari  heat  like  the  swift  stroke  of  a  lumnner,  as  it  sent  the 
i'lood  throbbing  thnnigh  her  temples  with  a  rush  that  almost 
DVcipowered  her. 

She  was  alone,  and  lonely  bcNond  expression.  Down  in 
these  thick  foimdations  no  soiuul  penetrated  to  break  the 
tcnilik'  monotou}'  of  the  silence  aroimd  In.'r,  except  the  dull, 
M)leni)i  voice  of  the  bell  striking  the  hour  of  midnight. 

Caroline  had  passetl  a  sleepless  night  after  the  visit  of 
Men.'  Malheur,  sometimes  tossing  on  her  solitary  couch, 
Mimctimes  starting  u])  in  terror.  She  rose  and  threw  herself 
despairingly  upon  her  kiices,  calling  on  Christ  to  pardon  her, 


45^^ 


THK    viOLDKN    DOG. 


and  on  the  Mother  of  Mercies  to  i)le;ul  for  lier,  sinner  ihat 
she  was,  whose  hour  of  shame  and  punishment  iiad  comr  : 

Tile  mysterious  letter  Ijrouj^lit  l)y  Mere  Mallieur,  announc- 
ing that  her  place  of  concealment  was  to  be  searched  In  tin; 
Governor,  excited  her  liveliest  apprehensions.  Hut  ihai 
faded  into  nothinti;ness  in  comparison  with  the  absolute  ter- 
ror that  seized  her  at  the  thou<j;hts  of  the  speedy  arriwil  oi 
her  father  in  the  Colony. 

Caroline,  overwhelmed  with  a  sense  of  shame  and  cDiUri- 
tion,  pictured  to  herself  in  darkest  colors  the  anL;er  ot  Irjr 
father  at  the  dishonor  she  had  brought  upon  his  un.Miii'td 
name. 

She  sal  down,  she  rose  up,  she  walked  her  solitarv  i  haiii- 
ber,  and  knelt  passionately  on  the  floor,  covering  iicr  i;uc 
with  her  hands,  crying  to  the  Madonna  for  pity  aiul  piutcc- 
tion. 

l*oor  self-accuser  !  The  hardest  and  most  merciless  wretch 
who  ever  threw  stone.s  al  a  woman  was  pitiful  in  (.:ompari>(in 
with  I'aroline's  inexorable  condenmalion  of  herself. 

Vet  her  fear  was  not  on  her  own  account.  She  c(;ulil  liavv 
kissed  her  father's  hand  and  submitted  humbly  tn  (katli 
itself,  if  he  chose  to  inllict  it;  but  siie  trcinbleci  hid-;  m 
the  thought  of  a  meeting  between  the  tiery  Uarou  ami  tiic 
haughty  Intendant.  One  or  the  other,  or  both  of  ihciu.  slio 
felt  instincti\elv,  must  die,  should  the  I'aion  discover  that 
Iiigot  had  been  the  cause  of  the  ruin  oi  his  idolized  t  liii'l. 
She  trembled  for  both,  and  prayed  (Jod  that  she  might  tiic 
in  their  stead  and  the  secret  of  her  shame  never  be  known 
to  her  fond  father. 

A  dull  sountl,  like  footsteps  shulllling  in  the  dark  |)assa^L' 
behind  the  arras,  struck  her  ear;  she  knew  her  strange  \iv 
itant  was  come.  She  started  up.  clasping  her  hantis  hard 
together  as  she  listened,  wondering  who  and  wiial  like  she 
might  be.  She  suspected  no  harm.  for  who  could  (Ksiii' 
to  harm  her  who  had  ne\er  injured  a  li\ing  being?  \t.'t 
there  she  stood  on  the  one  side  of  that  black  door  of  iloom. 
while  the  calamity  of  her  life  stood  on  the  other  side  like'  i 
tigress  ready  to  spring  through. 

A  low  knock,  twice  rejieated  t)n  the  thick  door  behind  the 
arras,  drew  her  at  once  to  her  feet.  She  lit'inbled  \  iolciitly 
as  she  lifted  up  the  tapestry;  something  rushed  through  htr 


tjUOTM    Till.    HAVES,    "  Ni:\T:k.MORK  ! 


457 


orsL'lf. 

She  ecHiKl  liav',' 

iinhly  In   (Icaih 

uhU'd    \w»[  at 

Ikuon  and  ihe 
th  of  ihciii.  s!n' 
1  discover  lli.it 

idolized  iliiM. 

siie  '.niulit  ilic 
ever  lie  known 

e  dark  i)assa;io 

ler  stran;j,o  \is- 

ler  hamls  haid 

1  what  like  slu' 

U)  could  (K'sirc 

r   heiiiLi?     \ft 

cl()(jr  of  doom. 

ther  side  like  '» 


mind  lolling   her  not  to  do  it.      Happy  had  it  l^een  for  her 
never  to  have  opened  that  fatal  door  ! 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  but  tlie  thou}j;ht  of  her  father 
and  the  impendin^^  search  of  the  ("hdteau  liasiicd  suddenly 
-poll  her  mind.  'I'he  visitant,  whoever  she  mij;ht  he.  pro- 
tosed  to  be  a  friend,  and  could,  she  thou;;ht,  have  no  motive 
to  harm  her. 

Caroline,  with  a  sudden  impulse,  pushed  aside  the  fasten- 
wv^  of  the  door,  and  uUerin_:j  the  w(;rds,  "  /)/<•// !  f^rotl'^c 
,/■'/,'"  stood  face  to  face  with  L;i  C'orriveau. 

The  bright  lamp  sJKjne  full  on  the  tall  tisjjure  of  the  strange 
visitor,  and  Caroline,  whose  fears  had  anticipated  some  un- ' 
coiuh  sigiU  of   terror,   was  surprised  to  see  only  a  woman 
{lrt.'>sed  in  the  simple  jrarb  of  a  peasant,  with  a  little  basket 
1)11  her  arm,  enter  cpiietly  throu<;"h  the  secret  door. 

The  eyes  of  La  C'orriveau  glared  for  a  moment  with  tiend- 
i>li  curiosity  upon  the  young  girl  wluj  stood  before  her  like 
iiie  (^f  (iod's  angels.  She  measured  her  fiom  head  to  foot, 
iV)lcil  every  fold  of  her  white  rol)e,  ever)'  flexure  of  lier 
graceful  form,  and  drank  in  the  whole  beauty  and  innocence 
uf  her  aspect  with  a  feeling  of  innate  sjiite  at  aught  so  fair 
.uid  good.  On  her  thin,  cruel  lips  there  played  a  smile  as 
the  secret  thought  hovered  over  them  in  an  unsjioken  whis- 
jKT,  "She  will  make  a  pretty  corpse!  l!rin\  illiers  and  La 
\uisiii  never  mingled  drink  for  a  fairer  victim  than  I  will 
cruwn  with  roses  to-night !  " 

Caroline  retreated  a  few  steps,  frightened  and  trembling, 
AS  she  encountered  the  glittering  eyes  and  sinister  smile 
't  La  C'orriveau.  The  woman  observed  it,  and  instantly 
iMiined  her  mien  to  one  more  natural  and  sympathetic;  for 
vii' comprehended  fully  the  neetl  of  dis.irming  suspicion  ami 
jt  winning  the  confidence  of  her  \  ictim  tcj  enable  her  more 
Miivl}'  to  destroy  her. 

Caroline,  reassured  by  a  second  glance  at  her  visitor, 
thoii^lit  she  had  been  mistaken  in  her  first  inipressi(jii. 
I'lic  peasant's  thess,  the  harmh  >s  basket,  the  (|uiet  m;niner 
i>^imied  by  La  Corrixeau  as  she  stood  in  a  resjiectful  atli 
;iide  as  if  waiting  lo  be  spoken  to,  banished  all  fears  from 
'^Ih'  mind  of  C'aroline,  and  left  her  only  curious  to  know  the 
issue  of  this  mysterious  visit. 


CHAPTKR    XLI. 


A  DKKi)  wmioirr  a   name. 


CAROLINK,  profoundly  aj^itiited,  rested  Iier  hatuU  on 
the  back  of  a  chair  for  sup[)ort,  and  rei;aiiKil  I. a 
Corriveaii  for  some  moments  without  si>eakin<ij.  She  trud 
to  frame  a  ([uestion  of  some  introductory  kind,  but  coukl  imt. 
I!ul  the  pent-up  feelings  came  out  at  hist  in  a  gush  strai:j;ht 
from  the  heart. 

"Did  you  write  this?"  said  she,  falterinL;ly,  to  La  (  or- 
riveau,  and  hokUnji;  out  the  letter  so  mysteriously  placed  in 
her  hand  by  Mere  Malheur.     "Oh,  tell  me,  is  it  true?" 

La  ("orri\eau  did  not  re|)ly  except  l)y  a  sign  of  assent,  and 
standing  upright  waited  for  further  cjuestion. 

(.'aroline  looked  at  her  again  wonderingly.  That  a  >i!iipk' 
peasant-W(jman  could  have  indited  such  a  letter,  or  coukl 
have  known  aught  respecting  her  father,  seemed  'ncrcdihk- 

"In  heaven's  name,  tell  me  who  and  what  vou  are'' 
exclaimed  she.     "  1   never  saw  you  before  !  " 

"  \'ou  have  seen  me  before!"  replied  La  (Orriwau 
cjiiietly. 

Caroline  looked  at  her  amazedly,  but  did  not  recogni/c 
her.  La  ("orri\eau  continued,  "  \'our  father  is  tiu-  li.iiisii 
de  St.  Castin,  and  vou,  ladv,  would  rather  die  than  ciulurc 
that  he  should  hnd  you  in  the  Chateau  of  Deaumaiiuii. 
Ask  me  not  how  I  know  these  things;  you  will  not  deny 
their  truth  ;  as  for  myself,  I  pretend  not  to  be  other  than  \ 
seem." 

"  Vour  dress  is  that  of  a  peasant-woman,  but  your  laiiL,UKiiio 
is  not  the  language  of  t)ne.  \'ou  are  a  lady  in  disguise  \i>ii 
ing  me  in  this  strange  fashion  !  "  said  Caroline,  pu/zled  iiinie 
than  ever.  Her  thoughts  at  this  instant  reverted  to  the 
Intendant.  "  Why  do  you  come  here  in  this  secret  manner?  " 
asked  she. 

"  1  do  not  appear  other  than  1  am,"  replied  La  Coiiivcau 

4  VS  • 


A    l)i:i:l)    WITMOLT    A     XAMi;. 


459 


La    ('()ni\oau 


-asivcly,  "and  I  come  in  this  secret  manner  because  I 
luld  ,:;et  access  to  you  in  no  otlier  way." 

••  \'()U  said  tiiat  I  had  seen  you  before;  I  liave  no  knowl- 
ti^oitr  recollection  of  it."  remarked  Caroline,  loc^kinj;  tlxedly 
•;•,  her. 

■  \  cs.  you  saw  me  once  in  tiie  wood  of  St.  N'alier.  Do 
I V  III  remember  the  peasant-woman  who  was  L;atherin^  man- 
(irakt's  when  you  passed  with  your  Indian  guides,  and  who 
.Mve  \()U  milk  to  refresh  you  cjn  the  way?" 

This  seemed  like  a  revelation  to  (  aroline  ;  she  remembered 
:J;c  incident  and  the  woman.  La  ('orri\eau  had  carefull)- 
rut  (<n  the  same  dress  she  had  worn  tiiat  day. 

"I  do  recollect!"  rejilied  Caroline,  as  a  feelim;  of  con- 
ndciue  welled  uj-)  like  a  liviiiL;  s]-»rin;;  within  her.  She  offered 
La  ("orriveau  her  hand.  "  1  thank  you  «;ratefully,"  said  she; 
•vuii  were  indeed  kind  to  me  that  day  in  the  forest,  and  I 
iin  Mire  you  must  mean  kindly  b\  me  now." 

l.a  ('(jrriyeau  took  the  offered  hand,  but  did  not  press  it. 
She  could  not  for  the  life  of  her,  for  she  had  not  heart 
;!j  return  the  pressure  of  a  human  hand.  She  saw  her 
atlvantai^e,  however,  and  kept  it  through  the  rest  of  the 
'rief  interview. 

••  1  mean  you  kindly,  lady,"  replied  she,  softeninsj;  her 
har^li  voice  as  much  as  she  could  t'>  a  tone  of  sympathy, 
•ami  I  come  to  help  you  out  of  your  trouble." 

For  a  moment  that  cruel  smile  pla\ed  on  her  thin  lips 
cain.  hut  she  instantly  repressed  it.  "  I  am  only  a  j)easant- 
VDinan."'  repeated  she  again,  "but  I  bring  you  a  little  gift  in 
nn  basket  to  show  my  good-will."  She  put  her  h.and  in  her 
I^asket.  but  did  not  withdraw  it  at  thti  moment,  as  Caroline, 
;ninking  little  of  gifts  but  only  of  iier  father,  exclaimed, 

"i  am  sure  you  mean  well,  but  you  ha\e  more  important 
;hin^>  to  tell  me  of  than  a  gift.  \'(>iir  letter  sjxike  of  my 
father.  What,  in  (iod's  name,  have  \<)u  to  tell  me  of  mv 
father  ? " 

La  ("orriveau  withdrew  her  hand  from  the  basket  and 
rqilied.  "  He  is  on  his  wav  to  Xiw  i-rance  in  search  of  you. 
lie  knows  yc»u  are  here,  lady." 

"In  beaumanoir.'  Oh,  il  cannot  Ix.' !  No  one  knows  I  am 
here! '■  exclaimed  Caroline,  clasping  her  hands  in  an  impulse 
i  alarm. 


460 


Till':    (JOLDKN    !)()(;. 


Vcs,  more  than  you  supjxise,  lady,  else  how  dil  I  1 


sill  )  , 


\'()iir  father  comes  with  the  Kiiii/'s  letters  to  take  v 


uul  return  with  you  U)  Acadia  or  to  I'rancc. 


La  ( 


on   llflKr 

orriviMu 


placetl   her  hand  in  lier  basket,  l)ut   withchew  it  a^Min.     | 


was  not  vet  tmie. 


w 


(lod    help    me,    then!"    exclaimed    ("aroliiie.    shrinkit 
ith   terror.      "'Hut   the    Intendant;    what   said   you   d   tl 


low 


Intendant 

"  He  is  ordered  (/<•  piti-  /<•  Roi  to  <;i\c  you  up  to  \u\\\ 
father,  and  he  will  do  so  if  you  be  not  taken  away  sooner  bv 
the  Governor." 

(.'aroline  \\as  nii^h  faintin;jj  at  these  words.    "  Sooner 
sooner  ? '"  asked  she,  faintly. 

"'I'he  (K)vernor  has  received  orders  from  the  VJwv^  to 
search  IJeaumanoir  from  roof  to  foundation-stone,  an<.l  In.- 
mav  come  to-morrow,  ladv,  and  lind  vou  here." 

The  words  of  La  ("orriveau  struck  like  sharp  arrows  into 


the  soul  of  the  liai)less  t;irl. 

"(Jod  help  me,  then  !  "  exclaimed  she,  claspinL,^  her  h: 


in  a<:onv 


Oh,  that  I  were  dead  and  l)uried  where  on' 


Ul(l> 
V  IIIV 


judj;"e  could  find  me  at  the  last  day,  for  I  have  no  hojje.  1 
claim  upon  man's  mercy!     The  world  will  stone  nie. 
or  livim:;.  and  alas!  I  deserve  my  fate.      It  is  not  hard  t 
i)ul  it  is  hard  to  bear  the  shame  which  will  not  die  with 


10 


(Icul 
o  (lie. 


me 


She  cast  her  eyes  desixiirinuiy  upward  as  she  uttered  this 
and  did  not  see  the  bitter  smile  return  to  the  lips  of  L;i 
C'orriveau,  who  stood  upright,  cold  and  immovable  hefoic 
her,  with  hn<j;ers  twitching;  nervously,  like  the  claw^  <if  a 
fury,  in  her  little  basket,  while  she  whis]jered  to  htiselt. 
"  Is  it  time,  is  it  time?"  but  she  took  not  out  the  b'Hitiud 
yet. 

Caroline  came  still  nearer,  with  a  sudden  chani,^'  of 
thought,  and  clutching;  the  dress  of  La  ("orriveau,  (tied  out. 

ow  can  \'ou  know  all  thi.s  tu 


'*  0  woman,  is  this  all  true.''      H 
be  true  of  me,  and  you  a  stranger  t  " 

*'  I  know  it  of  a  certainty,  and    I    am  come  to  I 
I  may  not   tell  you  by  whom  I  know  it;   perhaps  the  Intend 


le!])  you. 


ant    himself   has    sent 


me,      replied    La    ('orriveau 


\\\ 


h   X 


sudden  prompting:;  of  the  sjiirit  of  evil  who  stood  beside  her. 
"  The  Intendant  will  hide  you  from  this  search,  if  there  be  a 
sure  place  of  concealment  in  New  France." 


A    DKKI)    W  IIHOL' r    A     \.\MK. 


461 


you  up  to  Vdiir 
away  sooner  1)V 

"  Sooner  I  how 

ni    the    KinL:  tu 
ii-stone,   and  la- 

L'. 

larp  arrows  into 

spini2;  her  han(U 

1  where  only  luv 

lave  no  ho|)e.  no 

stone  me.  dead 

not  hard  to  die. 

jt  die  with  nie  '." 

slie  utteri'd  this 

the  lii^s  of   L,i 

inovablf   befotc 

the  claw^  of  a 

eretl    to   lici.si'lf, 

jut   the   hoiK|uct 

Iden  (diani;c  o! 
iveau,  ciird  out. 
know  all  thi>  tu 

me  to  hr'.j)  yoii. 
haps  the  Intend- 
)rri\('an.  with  a 
;toocl  beside  her. 
ch,  if  tliere  be  a 


The  reply  sent   a   ray  of    hope    acros.-.    the    mind    oi    the 


hjini/ec 


1   L^rl.      She    I 


)ouiulecl    with   a   sense  o 


if  del 


iverance. 


I;  seemed  .so  n.itural  that    iJii^ol,  so  deeply  concerned  in  her 
I  iiicealment,  slujuld  ha\e  sent  this  peasant  woman  to  take 
,uvav,  that  she  could    not    rellect    at   the    moment    how 
ikelv  it  was,  nor  could  she,  in  her  excitement,  read  the  lie 


Mil 


the  cold  face  of  La  ("orii\ea 


u. 


She  .seized  the  explanation  with  the  i;rasp  of  despair,  as  a 
iilor  seizes  the  one  plaiik  which  the  w.ives  lia\e  washed 
ihin  his  reach,  when  all  else  has  sunk   in  the  seas  around 


.;m. 


|liL:;ot  sent  you  ?  "  exclaimed  Caroline,  raisin^j;  her  hands, 
her  pale   face   sras  suddenly  sulVused  with  a  flush  of 


■nile 


coi 


'  lii<;()t  sent  you  to  conduct  me  hence  tu  a  sure  |)lace 

icealment  ?       ( )h,  blessed   messenj;er  I    1    believe    you 

Her  excited  imajjination  outtlew  even  the  inventions 


La  ( Orriveau. 


15i<:ot  has  heard  of 


my  p 


er 


rib 


iiid  sent 


1  here  at  midnight  U)  take  me  away  to  your  forest   home 
nil  this  search  be  over.      Is  it  not  .so?     Franrois-  \]\<^(A  did 

|notforu;et  me  in  my  dan<ier,  even  while  he  was  away  !  '' 
•  Ves,  lady,  the   Intendant  sent  me  U)  comluct  you  to  St. 

I  Wilier,  to  liide  you  there  in  a  sure  retreat  until  the  search  be 
viT,"  replied  La  CJcjrriveau,  calmly  eyeing  her  from  head  to 
"A. 

"It  is  like  him  !      He  is  not  unkind  when  left  to  himself. 
'.is  so  like  the  Fram^ois  ni<j;ot  I  once  knew!      I'ut  tell  me, 
iiiuia.  what  said  he  fuither.^      Did  you  see  him,  did  y< 


)U 


Mr  h 


nil 


111 


e  all  he  said  to  voi 


'I  saw  him,  lady,  and  heard  him,"  re]:)lied   La  ("orriveau, 

|'.ikin,i,Mhe  Iwutpiet  in   her  fin<;ers,  "but  he  said  little  more 

:..i:i  1  have  told  you.     The  Intendant  is  a  stern  man.  and 

.'.vl'.s  lew  words  save  commanils  to  those  of  my  condition. 

■  It  he  bade  me  con\e\'  to  you  a  token   oi   his  lo\e  ;  }ou 


I    have  it  safe.  ladv.  i 


n 


viukl  know  its  meaning,  he  said 
'">  basket,  -    shall  I  ^ive  it  to  you  ?" 
"  .\  token   of   his  love,  of   I'rancois   IJitiot's  love  to  me! 


Arc  von  a  woman  and  could  delav  Lii\in'_r  it  so  loin 


\Vh 


}■ 


^^v^;  you  it  not  at    first  ?      1   sIkuiUI   ncjt   ha\e   doubted   _\ou 
''-^n.     ( )h,  <jji\e   it   to   me,   and  be    blessed    as    the    welcom- 
•>;  messenger  that  ever  came  to  I'eaunianoir  !  " 
I-a   ('orriveau    held    her    hand    a    moment    more    in    the 


4^)2 


TWV.    COI.DKV     I»()<;. 


basket.  Iler  dark  featvires  turned  a  shade  paler,  ;iltli(,||..|, 
not  a  nerve  ()ui\ered  as  she  jjlucked  out  a  parcel  i  arcfuHv 
wrapped  in  silver  tissue.  She  slipped  otT  the  cover,  a-ui 
held  at  arm's  lenf;th  towards  the  ea^er,  expectant  -iij.  (i)^. 
fatal  l)ou(|uet  of  roses,  beautiful  to  see  as  the  fair^^i  ijntl 
ever  filled  the  laj)  of  I'lora. 

Caroline  clasped  it  with  both  hands,  exclaiming  in  ;i  \i,i(  • 
of  exultation,  while  cxeiy  featuie  radiated  with  j'>\,-|;  , 
the  gilt  of  (Jod,  and  the  return  ol  i'rant/tis's  io\e  !  .\ll  wi.l 
yet  be  well  !  " 

She  pressed  the  flowing  flowers  to  her  lips  with  iMrMoii- 
ate  kisses,  breathed  (jiice  or  twice  their  mortal  poison,  anl 
suddenly  tiirowing  back  iier  he.id  with  her  dark  cye.s  li\,,l 
on  \acancy,  but  holding  the  fatal  l)ouquet  fast  in  her  luii,ii>. 
fell  dead  at  the  feet  of  La  ("orri\eau. 

A  weird  laugh,  terrible  and  unsupi)ressed,  rang  around  liu; 
walls  of  the  secret  chamber,  where  the  lamps  burned  lul-'i; 
as  ever;  but  the  glowing  pictures  of  the  tai)estrv  lu.rr 
changed  a  feature.  Was  it  not  strange  that  e\en  th^sc 
painted  men  should  not  have  cried  out  at  the  sight  of  .so 
pitiless  a  murder  ? 

Caroline  lay  amid  them  all,  the  Hush  of  joy  still  on  herj 
clieek,  the  smile  not  yet  \anished  from  her  lips.  A  pity  fml 
all  the  world,  could  it  liave  seen  her  ;  but  in  thai  lont'lvj 
chamber  no  eye  pitied  her. 

l>ut  now  a  more  cruel  thing  supervened.  The  >ii;hi  ofl 
Caroline's  lifeless  form,  instead  of  i)ity  or  remorse,  rouscdj 
all  the  innate  furies  that  belonged  to  the  execrable  race  ofl 
La  Corriveau.  The  l)lo(;d  c^f  generations  of  poisoners  aiulj 
assassins  boiled  and  rioted  in  her  veins.  The  spirits  ofj 
Beatrice  Spara  and  of  La  \'(jisin  inspired  her  with  new  fury. 
She  was  at  this  moment  like  a  pantheress  that  ha.s  brought 
down  her  prey  and  stands  over  it  to  rend  it  in  pieco 

C'aroline  lay  dead,  deatl  beyond  all  douI)t,   never   to  bel 
resuscitated,  except    in    the    lesurrection    of    the    jn^t.    h;i| 
Corri\ eau   bent   oxer   her    and  felt  her  heart  ;    it  was  stil 
No  sign  of  breath  tlickered  on  lip  or  nostril. 

The   poisoner  knew    she    was    dead,  but    somethinLj  stilll 
woke  her  suspicions,  as  with  a  new  thought  she  drew  l);kk| 
and  looked  again  at  the  beauteous  form  before  her.     Si!> 
denly,  as  if  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  she  plucked  iin- 


L"  paler.  .iltli(.ii^h 

parcel  caicfuliv 

the    ccnur.  ,i>kI 

'vpcclaiU  uiil.  the 

.  the   faiivj>i  ili.it 

aiming;  in  a  \iii(  • 

with    i'p\,  ••  |l   ;, 

's  love  !     All  ui.l 

\\)S  with  p.i^^ioii- 
oilal  i)()i^nn.  an! 
r  dark  (.'vcs  tixni 
;ast  in  her  haini^. 

I,  ran^  around  ilu: 
ps  hurnecl  i»rl;'i: 
e  la|)cslry  iiewr 
that  even  tliusc 
t  the  siL;lu  of  ni 

f  joy  still  on  her 

lips.     A  piiy  fi)r 

ut  in  thai    lonely 

d.     The  .si;];ht  nf| 

remorse,  roused 
execrable  race  of{ 

of  poisoner.^  and 

The  si'irils  ofj 

,er  wilii  new  furyj 

that  ha>  hrough 

ill  piece.s 
iibt,   never   lo  bej 
ol    the    ju>t.    La' 
nirt  ;    it  was  still. 

t    something  still 
lit  she  drew  biuk 
jefore  her,     S.; 
she  pluekcd  ll'.cl 


SUK    PRESSED    THE    GLOWINfi    FLOWERS    TO    HER    LIPS. 


sharp 
heavv  I 
•■If  lh< 
I'orrivt 

A  t";ii 
white  \ 
a'.i>c(l 
bowl  \v 
,111(1  yc 
r.ii(»lin 
well  \\i 
syllable 
iviien  C 
iviili  he 

The 
knot's,  , 
victim, 
expcriir 

It  Wil 

"Th( 

vhe, 

i>  wort 
WIS  fi-; 
redden 

A  fc\ 
She  \vi] 
uiicre  it 
X')  pity 
duniMy 
hoart  ol 

The  ( 
^i  the 
house, 
''he  1)1  acj 

That 
^ine,  as 
'vatches 
<.'.i'ihlv 
U(  nr: 
iiii;-  her 


A   ni<:Kn  without  a  name. 


463 


sharp  Italian  stiletto  from  her  bosom,  and  with  a  firm, 
heavy  hand  plunged  it  twice  into  the  body  of  the  lifeless  girl. 
•If  there  be  life  there,"  she  said,  "it  too  shall  die!  La 
torriveau  leaves  no  work  of  hers  half  done  !  " 

A  faint  trickle  of  blood  in  red  threads  ran  down  the  snow- 
while  vestment,  and  that  was  all  !  The  heart  had  forever 
cea>cd  to  beat,  and  the  blood  to  circulate.  'I'he  golden 
bowl  was  broken  and  the  silver  cord  of  life  loosed  fore\er, 
and  \et  this  last  indignity  would  have  recalleil  the  soul  of 
(aroline,  could  she  ha\c  been  conscious  of  it.  IWit  all  was 
•Atll  with  her  now  ;  not  in  the  sense  of  the  last  joyous 
jvllahles  siie  spoke  in  life,  but  in  a  higher,  holier  sense,  as 
wiion  (iod  interprets  our  words,  and  not  men,  all  was  well 
iviih  her  now. 

The  gaujit,  iron-visaged  woman  knelt  down  upon  her 
knees,  gazing  with  unshrinking  eyes  upon  the  face  of  lier 
viiiim,  as  if  curiously  marking  the  elYect  of  a  successful 
experiment  of  the  (Kjiia  tofatia. 

Il  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  dared  to  adiiiinister  that 
subtle  poison  in  the  fashion  of  La  Dorgia. 

"The  aqua  tofa/ia  does  its  work  like  a  charm  !  "  muttered 
she.  ''That  vial  was  compounded  by  IJeatrice  Spara,  and 
i>  worthy  of  her  skill  and  more  sure  than  her  stiletto  !  I 
was  frantic  to  use  that  weapon,  for  no  purpose  than  to 
ridden  m\'  hands  with  the   work  of  a  low  bravtj !  " 

A  few  drops  of  blood  were  on  the  hand  of  La  Corriveau. 
She  wiped  them  imiiatiently  upon  the  garment  of  Caroline. 
where  it  left  the  impress  of  her  fingers  upon  the  snowy  muslin. 
No  pity  for  her  pallid  victim,  who  lay  with  open  eyes  looking 
diiiiihly  upon  her,  no  remorse  for  her  act  touched  the  stony 
heart  of  La  Corriveau. 

The  clock  of  the  Chateau  struck  one.  The  solitary  stroke 
"f  the  bell  reverberated  like  an  accusing  voice  through  the 
house,  but  failed  to  awaken  one  sleeper  to  a  discoxery  of 
-'C  black  tragedy  that  hnd  just  taken  place  under  its  roof. 

That  .sound  had  often  struck  sadly  upon  the  ear  of  Caro- 
line, as  she  prolonged  her  \igil  of  prayer  through  the  still 
vati  lies  of  the  night.  Her  ear  was  dull  enough  now  to  all 
c-i'thly  sound  1  Ikit  the  toll  of  the  bell  reached  the  ear  of 
I"i  ('( (niveau,  rousing  her  to  the  need  of  immediately  elTect- 
%  her  escape,  now  that  her  task  was  dore. 


!  I 


464 


TFIE    GOT.DEN    DOG. 


She  sprang  up  and  looked  narrowly  around  the  cliaiiihcr. 
She  marked  with  envious  malignity  the  luxury  and  niaL^tutl 
cence  of  its  adornm.ents.  Upon  a  chair  lay  her  own  it-liL-r 
sent  to  Caroline  by  the  hands  of  Mere  Malheur.  La  Corii- 
veau  snatched  it  up.  It  was  what  she  sought.  She  lore  ii 
in  pieces  and  threw  the  fragments  from  her;  but  with  a 
sudden  thought,  as  if  not  daring  to  leave  even  the  fraginciUi 
upon  the  lloor,  she  gathered  them  up  hastily  and  |)ul  ihum 
in  her  basket  with  the  boucjuet  of  roses,  whicii  she  wnjstffl 
from  the  dead  fnigers  of  Caroline  in  order  to  cany  ii  awav 
and  scatter  the  fatal  (lowers  in  the  forest. 

She  pulled  open  the  drawers  of  the  escritoire  to  search  for 
money,  but  fuiding  none,  was  too  wary  to  carry  oil  auijlu 
else.  The  temptation  lay  sore  upon  her  to  carry  awav  ihc 
ring  from  the  tlnger  of  Caroline.  She  drew  it  off  the  pale 
wasted  finger,  l)ut  a  cautious  consideration  restrained  her. 
She  put  it  on  again,  and  would  not  take  it. 

"It  would  only  lead  to  discovery!"  muttered  she.  "I 
must  take  nothing  but  myself  and  what  belongs  to  me  away 
from  Heaumanoir.  and  the  sooner  the  better!" 

La  Corriveau,  with  her  basket  again  upon  her  arm,  turned 
to  give  one  last  look  of  fiendish  satisfaction  at  the  corpve. 
which  lay  like  a  dead  angel  slain  in  (Jod's  battle.  The 
bright  lamps  were  glaring  full  upon  her  still  beauti''ul  but 
sightless  eyes,  which,  wide  open,  looked,  even  in  deatii. 
reproachfully  yet  forgivingly  upon  their  murderess. 

Something  startled  La  Corriveau  in  that  look.  She 
turned  hastily  away,  and,  relighting  her  candle,  pa.sse(l 
through  the  dark  arclnvay  of  the  secret  door,  forgetting  to 
close  it  after  her,  and  retraced  her  steps  along  the  stoiu' 
passage  until  she  came  to  the  watch-tower,  where  she  dashed 
out  her  light. 

Creeping  around  the  tower  in  the  dim  moonlight,  she 
listened  long  and  anxiously  at  door  and  window  to  discover 
if  all  was  still  about  the  Chateau.  Not  a  sound  was  heard 
but  the  water  of  the  little  brook  gurgling  in  its  pebbly  bed, 
which  seemed  to  be  all  that  was  awake  on  this  n'v^hi  of 
death. 

La  Corriveau  emerged  cautiously  from  the  tower.  She 
crept  like  a  guilty  thing  under  the  shadow  of  the  hedge,  and 
got  away  unperceived  l)y  the  san»e  road  she  had  come.    She 


A    DEED    WrniOL'T    A    NAME. 


4^5 


:tered  sIil'.     "  I 


:;liclv;d  like  a  dark  spectre  through  the  forest  of  I'eaumanoir, 
and  returned  to  the  city  to  tell  Angelique  des  Meloises  that 
the  arms  of  the  Intendant  were  now  empty  and  ready  to 
clasp  her  as  his  bride  ;  that  her  rival  was  dead,  and  siie  had 
put  herself  under  bonds  forever  to  La  Corriveau  as  the  price 
of  innocent  blood. 

La  Corriveau  reached  the  city  in  the  gray  of  the  morning; 
a  thick  fog  lay  like  a  winding-sheet  upon  the  face  of  nature. 
The  broad  river,  the  lofty  rocks,  every  object,  great  and 
small,  was  hidden  from  view. 

To  the  intense  satisfaction  of  La  Corriveau,  the  fog  con- 
cealed her  return  to  the  house  of  Mere  Malheur,  whence, 
after  a  brief  repose,  and  with  a  conunand  t(}  the  old  crone 
lu  ask  no  questions  yet,  she  sallied  forth  again  to  cai  ry  to 
Aiifjclique  the  welcome  news  that  her  rival  was  dead. 

No  one  observed  La  Corriveau  as  she  passed,  in  her 
peasant  dress,  through  the  misty  streets,  which  did  not 
admit  of  an  object  being  discerned  ten  paces  off. 

Angelique  was  up.  She  had  not  gone  to  bed  that  night, 
and  sat  feverishly  on  the  watch,  expecting  the  arrival  of 
La  Corriveau. 

She  had  counted  the  niinutes  of  the  silent  hours  of  the 
ni^ht  as  they  passed  by  her  in  a  terrible  panorama.  She 
pictured  to  her  imagination  the  successive  scenes  of  the 
'irai,fcdy  which  was  being  accomi)lished  at   IJeaumanoir. 

The  hour  of  midnight  culminated  over  her  head,  and 
looking  out  of  her  window  at  the  black,  distant  hills,  in  the 
recesses  of  which  she  knew  lay  the  Chateau,  her  agitation 
jrcw  intense.  She  knew  at  that  hour  La  Corriveau  must  be 
in  the  presence  of  her  victim.  Would  she  kill  her?  Was 
she  about  it  now?  The  thought  fastened  on  Angeli(iue  like 
a  wild  beast,  and  would  nut  let  go.  She  thought  of  the 
Intendant,  and  was  tilled  with  hope  ;  slu;  thought  of  the  crime 
of  imirder  and  shrunk  now  that  it  was  being  done. 

It  was  in  this  mood  she  wailed  and  watched  for  the  return 
of  her  bloodv  messenuei'.  She  heard  the  cautious  foot  on 
'he  >t()ne  steps.  She  knt-w  by  a  sure  instinct  whose  it  was, 
and  rushed  down  to  admit  her. 

They  met  at  the  door,  and  without  a  word  spoken,  one 
ea,;^er  glance  of  Angelique  at  the  dark  face  of  La  Corriveau 
drank  in  the  whole  fatal  story.     Caroline  de  St.  Castin  was 


!l 


466 


THK    CjOLDKN     doc 


dead  !  Her  rival  in  ihc  love  of  the  Inteiulanl  was  hcNoiul 
all  power  of  rivalry  now  !  The  lofty  doors  of  ambitious  liopt- 
stood  open  —  what!  to  admit  the  queen  of  beauty  and  (,f 
society?  No!  but  a  murderess,  who  would  be  f.  unci 
haunted  with  the  fear  of  justice  !  It  seemed  at  this  inoincin 
as  if  the  lights  had  all  gone  out  in  the  palaces  and  rc.al 
halls  where  her  imagination  had  so  long  rini  riot,  and  she 
saw  only  dark  shadows,  and  heard  inarticulate  sounds  <.i 
strange  voices  babbling  in  her  ear.  It  was  the  unspoki n 
words  of  her  own  troubled  thoughts  and  the  terrors  nc\\l\ 
awakened  in  her  soul ! 

Ange'lique  seized  the  hand  of  La  C.'orriveau,  not  witliout 
a  shudder.  She  drew  her  hastily  up  to  her  chaml)er  aii'i 
thrust  her  into  a  chair.  Placing  both  hands  upon  the  shoul- 
ders of  La  Conv  eau,  she  looked  wildly  in  her  face,  exclaim- 
ing in  a  half  exultant,  half  piteous  tone,  "Is  it  done?  !.-, 
it  really  done  ?  I  read  it  in  your  eyes !  I  know  you  haw 
done  the  deed  !     ( )h,  La  Corriveau  !  " 

The  grim  countenance  of  the  woman  relaxed  into  a  halt 
smile  of  scorn  and  surprise  at  the  unexpected  weakness  which 
she  instantly  noted  in  Angelicjue'..  manner. 

"  Yes,  it  is  done  !  "  replied  she,  coldly,  "•  and  it  is  well 
done  !  But,  by  the  manna  of  St.  Nichola.  !  "  exclaimed  she 
starting  from  the  chair  and  drawing  her  gaunt  figure  up  u< 
its  full  height,  while  her  black  eyes  shot  daggers,  "you  look. 
Mademoiselle,  as  if  you  repented  its  being  done.      Do  you?  ' 

"  Yes  !  No  !  No,  not  now !  "  replied  Angelique,  touched  as 
with  a  hot  iron.  "  1  will  not  repent  now  it  is  done  !  ihai 
were  folly,  needless,  dangerous,  now  it  is  done  !  lUil  is  she 
dead  ?  Did  you  wait  to  see  if  she  were  really  dead  ?  I'oopie 
look  dead  sometimes  and  are  not!  Tell  me  truly,  and  con 
ceal  nothing  !  " 

"  La  Corri\eau  does  not  her  work  by  hahes,  Madenioiselle, 
neither  do  you  ;  only  you  talk  of  repentance  after  it  is  doiu , 
I  do  not  !  That  is  all  the  ditTerence  !  He  satisfied;  the  lad} 
of  Heaumanoir  is  dead  !  I  made  doubly  siu'e  of  thai,  and 
deserve  a  double  reward  from  you  !  " 

"Reward!  NOu  shall  have  all  you  crave!  l)Ut  what  a 
secret  between  you  and  me!  "  Angelique  looked  at  1, a  Cor- 
riveau as  if  this  thought  now  struck  her  for  the  fnsi  tiiiic 
She  was  in  this  woman's  power.     She  shivered  from  lu.uj  ti 


A   i)i:r,n  wniioi'T  a   nami:. 


467 


foot.  "  Your  reward  for  this  night's  work  is  iiere,"  faltered 
she,  placing  her  hand  over  a  small  box.  She  did  not  touch 
it.  it  seemed  as  if  it  would  burn  her.  It  was  heavy  with 
pieces  of  gold.  "  'I'hey  are  uncounted,"  continued  she. 
•Tiikc  it,  it  is  all  yours!" 

I,;i  C'orriveau  snatched  the  box  off  the  table  and  held  it 
to  her  bosom.  Angelicjue  continued,  in  a  monotonous  tone, 
,is  one  conning  a  lesson  by  rote,  -  **  Use  it  prudently.  Do 
not  seem  to  the  world  to  be  suddenly  rich  :  it  might  be 
inquired  into.  I  have  thought  of  everything  during  the  past 
ni;;ht,  and  I  remember  I  had  to  tell  you  that  when  I  gave 
\n[\  tile  gold.  Use  it  prudently !  Sometiiing  else,  too,  I 
was  to  tell  you.  but  I  think  not  of  it  at  this  moment." 

"Thanks,  and  no  thanks.  Mademoiselle!"  replied  La 
I  orriveau,  in  a  hard  tone.  "  Thanks  for  the  reward  so  fully 
iMriied.  No  thanks  for  your  faint  heart  that  robs  me  of  my 
,vell-earned  meed  of  applause  for  a  work  done  so  artistically 
,md  perfectly  that  La  Brinvilliers,  or  La  Hurgia  herself, 
mifjht  envy  me,  a  humble  paysaiuie  of  St.   Valier  !  " 

La  C'orriveau  looked  proudly  up  as  she  said  this,  for  she 
felt  herself  to  be  anything  but  a  humble  ptiysaiinc.  She 
nourished  a  secret  pride  in  her  heart  over  tiie  perfect  suc- 
cess of  her  devilish  skill  in  poisoning. 

"  1  give  you  whatever  praise  you  desire,''  replied  Ange- 
lique,  mechanically.  "  I)Ut  you  have  not  told  me  how 
it  was  done.  Sit  down  again,"  continued  she,  with  a 
touch  of  her  imperative  manner,  "  and  tell  me  all  and  every 
incident  of  what  you  have  done." 

'•  \ov\  will  not  like  to  hear  it.  I'etter  be  content  with  the 
knowledge  that  your  rival  was  a  dangerous  and  a  beautiful 
one."  Ange'lic|ue  lookeil  up  at  this.  "  Better  be  content  to 
know  that  she  is  dead,  without  asking  any  more." 

"Xo,  you  shall  tell  me  everything.  I  cannot  rest  unless 
1  know  all !  " 

"Nor  after  you  do  know  all  will  you  rest!"  rei)lied  La 
(oiriveau  slightingly,  for  she  despi.sed  the  evident  trepida- 
tion of  Angeliciue. 

"  .\o  matter!  you  shall  tell  me.  1  am  calm  now."  An- 
3;t^'li(|ue  made  a  great  effort  to  appear  calm  while  she  listened 
t'J  tlu'  tale  of  tragedy  in  which  she  had  played  so  deep  a 
P>irt. 


,'< 


;i 


468 


THE    fiOLDKN     DOfl. 


La  Corriveau,  observing  that  Ihe  gust  of  passion  was  Mown 
over,  sat  clown  in  the  chair  opposite  Angelicpie,  and  platiiv 
one  hand  on  the  knee  of  her  listener,  as  if  to  hold  Iki  ia>i, 
began  the  terrible  recital. 

She  gave  Angelique  a  graphic,  minute,  and  not  uninir 
account  of  all  she  had  done  at  ISeaunianoir,  dwelling  wjih 
fierce  unction  on  the  marvellous  and  sudden  etYects  of  ilu^ 
aqua  toJ\iiia,  not  sparing  one  detail  of  the  beauty  and  innocent 
looks  of  her  victim  ;  and  repeating,  with  a  mocking  iau^li, 
the  deceit  she  had  practised  upon  her  with  regard  lo  ih^ 
bouquet  as  a  gift  from  the  Fntendant. 

Angelique  listened  to  the  terrible  tale,  drinking  it  in  with 
eyes,  mouth,  and  ears.  Her  countenance  changed  lo  a  mask 
of  ugliness,  wonderful  in  one  l)y  nature  so  fair  to  see.  (  loud 
followed  cloud  over  her  face  and  eyes  as  the  dread  retiial 
went  on,  and  her  imagination  accompanied  it  with  vi\itl 
pictures  of  every  phase  of  the  diabolical  crime. 

When  La  Corriveau  described  the  presentation  of  the  boii- 
(|uet  as  a  gift  of  P)igot,  and  the  deadly  sudden  effect  whiiii 
followed  its  joyous  acceptance,  the  thoughts  of  ("aroline  in  her 
white  robe,  stricken  as  by  a  thunderbolt,  shook  Angcli(|iiL' 
with  terrible  emotion.  But  when  La  Corriveau,  coldl\  and 
with  a  bitter  spite  at  her  softness,  described  with  a  sudden 
gesticulation  and  eyes  piercing  her  through  and  through,  the 
strokes  of  the  poniard  upon  the  lifeless  body  of  her  xiclini, 
Angelique  sprang  up,  clasped  her  hands  together,  and,  with 
a  cry  of  woe,  fell  senseless  upon  the  floor, 

"  She  is  useless  now,"  said  La  Corriveau,  rising  anil 
spurning  Angelique  with  her  foot.  "  I  deemed  she  had 
courage  to  equal  her  wickedness.  She  is  but  a  woman  after 
all,  —  doomed  to  be  the  slave  of  some  man  through  life. 
while  aspiring  to  conunand  all  men!  It  is  not  of  such  tie.sh 
that  La  Corriveau  is  made  !  " 

La  Corriveau  stood  a  few  moments,  reflecting  what  \\;i> 
best  to  be  done. 

All  things  considered,  she  decided  to  leave  Angeli(|uc  I'l 
come  to  of  herself,  while  she  made  the  best  of  her  way  i)iKk 
to  the  house  of  Mere  Malheur,  with  the  intention,  whic  h  shr 
carried  out,  of  returning  to  St.  Valier  with  her  infaiiidu.s 
reward  that  very  day. 


CHAPTER   XLII. 


LETS    TALK    OF     (IRAVES    AND    WORMS    AND    EPITAPHS. 


icting  what  wii-- 


ABOUT  the  hour  that  I,a  Corriveau  emerged  from  the 
gloomy  woods  of  Heauport,  on  her  return  to  the  city, 
llie  night  of  the  murder  of  Caroline,  two  horsemen  were 
battering  at  full  speed  on  the  highway  that  led  to  Charle- 


boiirg. 


Their  dark  figures  were  irrecojiuizable   in  the  di 


m 


moonlight.  They  rode  fast  and  silent,  like  men  having 
important  business  before  them,  which  demanded  haste; 
business  which  both  fully  understood  and  cared  not  now  to 
i\\k  about. 

And  so  it  was.  Bigot  and  Cadet,  after  the  exchange  of 
.1  few  words  about  the  hour  of  midnight,  suddenly  left  the 
wine,  the  dice,  and  the  gay  company  at  the.  Palace,  and 
mounting  their  horses,  rode,  unattended  by  groom  or  valet, 
ill  the  direction  of  Peaumanoir. 

liigot,  under  the  mask  (jf  gaiety  and  indifference,  had 
felt  no  little  alarm  at  the  tenor  of  the  royal  des]xitch,  and 
at  the  letter  of  the  Marquise  de  Pompadour  concerning 
Caroline  de  St.  Castin. 

The  proximate  arrival  of  Caroline's  father  in  the  Colony 
was  a  circumstance  ominous  of  trouble.  The  J'aron  was 
iiu  tiiller,  and  would  as  soon  choke  a  prince  as  a  beggar,  to 
revenge  an  insult  to  his  personal  honor  or  the  honor  of  his 
house. 

lligot  cared  little  for  that,  however.  The  Intendant 
was  no  coward,  and  could  brazen  a  thing  out  with  anv  man 
alive.  Ijut  there  was  one  thing  whicii  lie  knew  he  could  not 
Hra/.en  out  or  fight  out,  or  do  anvthing  but  mise-rablv  fail 
in.  should  it  come  to  the  tjucstion.  He  had  boldly  and 
wilfully  lied  at  the  Governor's  council-table  —  sitting  as  the 
King's  councillor  among  gentlemen  of  honor  -  when  he 
declared  that  he  knew  not  the  hiding-place  of  Caroline  de 
St.  (  astin.      It  would  cover  iiim  with  eternal  disgrace,  as  a 

469 


470 


TIIK    COLDKX    DOG. 


l! 


gentleman,  to  be  detected  in  such  a  tlaj^rant  falsLliood, 
It  would  ruin  him  as  a  courtier  in  the  favor  of  i!ic  "real 
Marquise  should  she  discover  that,  in  spite  of  his  tk'iiials 
of  the  fact,  he  had  harbored  and  concealed  the  niissiii" 
lady  in   his  own  chateau. 

liigot  was  sorely  perplexed  over  this  turn  (A  affair^. 
He  uttered  a  thousand  curses  upon  all  concerned  in  ii, 
excepting  upon  Caroline  herself,  for  although  vexed  at  her 
coming  to  iiim  at  all,  he  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  i, 
curse  her.  P>ut  cursing  or  ble;>sing  availed  nothing  now. 
'I'ime  was  pressing,  and  he  must  act. 

That  Caroline  would  be  sought  after  in  every  nook  and 
corner  of  the  land,  he  knew  full  well,  from  the  chara(  lei 
of  La  C'orne  St.  Luc  and  of  her  father.  HJs  own  chauau 
would  not  be  spared  in  the  general  search,  .uul  he  doiihtcd 
if  the  secret  chamber  would  remain  a  secret  from  the  kern 
eyes  of  these  men.  He  surmised  that  others  knew  of  it> 
existence  besides  himself:  old  servitors,  and  women  who 
had  pas.sed  in  and  out  of  it  in  times  gone  by.  Dame 
'i'remblay,  who  did  know  of  it,  was  not  to  be  trusted  in  a 
great  temptation.  She  was  in  heart  the  Charming  jost  phine 
still,  and  could  be  bribed  or  seduced  by  any  one  who  hid 
high  enough  for  her. 

l)igot  had  no  trust  whatever  in  human  nature.  He  felt 
he  had  no  guarantee  against  a  discovery,  farther  tliaii 
interest  or  fear  barred  the  door  against  intjuiry.  lie  could 
not  rely  for  a  moment  upon  the  inviolability  of  his  own 
house.  La  Corne  St.  Luc  would  demand  to  search,  and 
he,  bound  by  his  declarations  of  non-complicity  in  the 
abduction  of  Caroline,  coidd  offer  no  reason  for  rifasal 
without  arousing  instant  suspicion;  and  T^a  Corne  was  Iod 
sagacious  not  to  fasten  upon  the  remotest  trace  of  Caroline 
and  follow  it  up  to  a  complete  discovery. 

She  could  not,  therefore,  remain  longer  in  the  Chateau 
—  this  was  absolute;  and  he  must,  at  whatever  cost  and 
whatever  risk,  remo\e  her  to  a  fresh  place  of  concealment, 
until  the  storm  blew  over,  or  some  other  means  of  escajic 
from  the  present  difficulty  offered  themselves  in  the  ( ha[)ter 
of  accidents. 

In  accordance  with  this  design,  IJigot,  under  pretence  of 
business,  had  gone  off  the  very  next  day  after  the  n.eeting 


"GRAVES    AND    WORMS    AND    EPITAPHS. 


471 


in  the  cliaplcr 


ot  the  Governor's  Council,  in  the  direction  of  the  Three 
Rivers,  to  arrange  with  a  band  of  IMonta^nais,  whom  he 
could  rely  upon,  for  the  reception  of  Caroline,  in  the  dis- 
guise of  an  Indian  tijirl,  with  instructions  to  remove  their 
uii;\vams  immediately  and  take  her  off  with  them  to  the 
wild,  remote  valley  of  the  St.  Maurice. 

The  old  Indian  chief,  eajrer  to  oblioje  the  Intendant, 
had  assented  willingly  to  his  proposal,  promising  the  gentlest 
treatment  of  the  lady,  and  a  silent  tongue  concerning  her. 

IJigot  was  impressive  in  Is  commands  upon  these 
poinls,  and  the  chief  pledged  his  faith  upon  them,  delighted 
beyond  measure  by  the  j^romise  of  an  ample  supply  of  powder, 
blankets,  and  provisions  for  his  tribe,  while  the  Intendant 
added  an  abundance  of  all  such  delicacies  as  could  be  for- 
warded, for  the    use  and  comfort  of  the  lady. 

To  carry  out  this  scheme  without  observation,  Bigot 
needed  the  help  of  a  trusty  friend,  one  whom  he  could 
thoroughly  rely  upon,  to  convey  Caroline  secretly  away 
from  lieaumanoir,  and  place  her  in  the  keeping  of  the 
Montagnais,  as  well  as  to  see  to  the  further  execution  of 
hi.'  wishes  for  her  concealment  and  good  treatment. 

liigot  had  many  friends,  —  men  living  on  his  bounty, 
who  ought  only  to  have  been  too  happy  to  obey  his  slightest 
wishes,  —  friends  bound  to  him  by  disgraceful  secrets,  and 
common  interests,  and  pleasures.  P>ut  he  could  trust  none 
of  them  with  the  secret  of  Caroline  de  St.  Castin. 

He  felt  a  new  and  unwonted  delicacv  in  r--  --'•d  to  her. 
Her  name  was  dear  to  him,  her  fame  even  w  becoming 
dearer.  To  his  own  surprise  it  troubled  him  now  as  it 
had  never  trouliled  him  liefore.  He  would  not  have  her 
name  defiled  in  the  mouths  of  such  men  as  drank  his  wine 
daily  and  nightly,  and  disputed  the  existence  of  any  virtue 
in  woman. 

liigot  ground  his  teeth  as  he  muttered  to  himself  that 
ihey  might  make  a  mock  of  whatever  other  women  they 
pleased.  He  himself  could  out  do  them  all  in  coarse  rib- 
aldry of  the  sex,  but  they  should  not  make  a  mock  and 
Hash  obscene  jests  at  the  mention  of  Caroline  de  St. 
'astin!  They  should  never  learn  her  name.  He  could  not 
trust  one  of  them  with  the  secret  of  her  removal.  And  yet 
some  one  of  them  must  perforce  be  entrusted  with  it  I 


t' 


472 


THK    (JOLIJKN     DOG. 


r  < 


He  conned  over  the  names  of  his  associates  one  hv 
one,  and  one  by  one  condemned  them  all  as  unworthv  ot 
confidence  in  a  matter  where  treachery  mi^dit  possihlv  h, 
made  more  profitable  than  fidelity.  Uigot  was  false  hinibfll 
to  the  heart's  core,  and  believed  in  no  man's  truth. 

He  was  an  acute  judge  of  men.  He  read  their  motiws. 
their  bad  ones  especially,  with  the  accuracy  of  a  Mephis- 
topheles,  and  with  the  same  cold  contempt  for  evt-rv  trace 
of  virtue. 

Varin  was  a  cunning  knave,  he  said,  ambitious  (,{ 
the  support  of  the  Church  ;  communing  with  his  auiu.  tlu- 
Superior  of  the  Ursulines,  whom  he  deecived,  and  who 
was  not  without  hope  of  himself  one  day  rising  to  be  In- 
tendant.  He  would  place  no  such  secret  in  the  kee])in^ 
of  Varin ! 

Penisault  was  a  sordid  dog.  He  would  cheat  tiif 
Montagnais  of  his  gifts,  and  so  discontent  them  with  thei; 
charge.  He  had  neither  courage  nor  spirit  for  an  ad\en- 
ture.  He  was  in  his  right  place  superintending  tiie  coun- 
ters of  the  Friponne.  He  despised  I'enisault,  while  glad 
to  use  him  in  the  basest  ofitices  of  the  Grand  Comjjany. 

Le  Mercier  was  a  pickthank.  angling  after  the  fa\()i 
of  La  I'ompadour,  —  a  pretentious  knave,  as  hollow  as  oiu- 
of  his  own  mortars.  He  suspected  him  of  being  a  spy  of 
hers  upon  himseif.  Le  Mercier  would  be  only  loo  glad 
to  send  La  Pompadour  red-hot  information  of  such  an 
important  secret  as  that  of  Caroline,  and  she  would  reward 
it  as  good  service  to  the  King  and  to  herself. 

Deschenaux  was  incapable  of  keeping  a  secret  of  an\ 
kind  when  he  got  drunk,  or  in  a  passion,  which  was  e\ei\ 
day.  His  rapacity  reached  to  the  very  altar.  He  would 
rob  a  church,  and  was  one  who  would  rather  take  by  tonr 
than  favor.  He  would  strike  a  Montagnais  who  w(tuld  a>k 
for  a  blanket  more  than  he  had  cheated  him  wiili.  lit 
would  not  trust  Deschenaux. 

I)e  Pean,  the  quiet  fox,  was  wanted  to  look  after  that 
desperate  gallant,  Le  (Jardeur  de  Repentigny,  who  was  still 
in  the  Palace,  and  must  be  kept  there  by  all  the  seductions 
of  wine,  dice,  and  women,  until  we  have  done  with  him, 
De  Pean  was  the  meanest  spirit  of  them  all,  "  He  wuuki 
kiss  my  foot  in   the   morning   and  sell   me  at   night  tor  a 


GKAVKS    AM)    WORMS    AND    ElMTAPHS. 


473 


handful  of  silver."  said  F)i<j;ot.  Villains,  every  one  of  them, 
who  would  not  scruple  to  advance  their  own  interests  with 
La  I'dinpadour  by  his  betrayal  in  telling  her  such  a  secret 
i>  tiuU  of  Caroline's. 

Dl'  Kepenti^ny  had  honor  and  truth  in  him,  and  could 
be  entirely  trusted  if  he  promised  to  serve  a  friend.  Hut 
Bi-ol  dared  not  name  to  him  a  matter  of  this  kind.  Fie 
iiukl  spurn  it,  drunk  as  he  was.  He  was  still  in  all  his 
.;i>iiiuts  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier.  He  could  only  be 
Mil  liy  IJigot  through  an  abuse  of  his  noblest  ciualities. 
He  dared  not  broach  such  a  scheme  to  Le  Gardeur  de 
Repcntigny ! 

Among  his  associates  there  was  but  one  who,  in  spite  of 
his  brutal  manners  and  coarse  s|)eech.  perhaps  because 
of  these,  I]igot  would  trust  as  a  friend,  to  help  him  in  a 
serious  emergency  like  the  present. 

Cadet,  the  Commissary  (General  of  New  France,  was 
uiiliful  to  ]>igot  as  a  fierce  bull-dog  to  his  master.  Cadet 
Aas  no  hypocrite,  nay,  he  may  have  appeared  to  be  worse 
:han  in  reality  he  was.  He  was  bold  and  outspoken, 
rapacious  of  otiier  men's  goods,  and  as  prodigal  of  his 
j'vii.  Clever  withal,  fearless,  and  fit  for  any  bold  enter- 
prise.      He    ever    allowed    himself    to    be    guided    by    the 

Lil)t'ri()r  intellect  of  Higot,  whom  he  regarded  as  the  prince 
ut  ji;(kk1  fellows,  and  swore  by  him,  ])rofanely  enough,  on 
all  occasions,  as  the  shrewdest  head  and  tiie  quickest  hand 
to  turn  over  money  in  New  France. 

liinot  could  trust  Cadet.  He  had  only  to  whisper  a 
tew  words  in  his  ear  to  see  him  jump  up  from  the  table 
'iherc  he  was  playing  cards,  dash  his  stakes  with  a  sweep 
I  of  his  hand  into  the  lap  of  his  antagonist,  a  gift  or  a  for- 
teit.  lie  cared  not  which,  for  nctt  finisiiing  the  game.  In 
ihree  minutes  Cadet  was  booted,  witii  his  heavy  riding- 
whip  in  his  hand  ready  to  mount  his  horse  and  ac(;om|)any 
Hi^^ot  "to  Beaumanoir  or  to  hell,"  he  said,  "if  he  wanted 
|toj,n)  there." 

In  the   short  space  of   time,   while   the  grooms  saddh  d 
I  their  horses,  I^igot  drew  Cadet  aside  and  explained  to  him 
the  situation  of  his  affairs,  informing  him,  in  a  few  words, 
hvho  tiie    lady   was   who    lived    in    such    retirement    in    the 

-hateau,  and  of  his  denial  of  the  fact  before  the  Council 


474 


THK    CJOLDKN    DOG. 


and  Governor.  He  told  him  of  the  letters  of  the  Kini;  and 
of  La  Pompadour  respecting;  Caroline,  and  of  the  necessitv 
of  removing;  her  at  once  far  out  of  reach  before  the  a.  tual 
search  for  her  was  bej;un. 

Cadet's  cynical  eyes  Mashed  in  genuine  sympaihv  with 
Digot,  and  he  laid  his  heavy  hand  upon  his  shoulder  and 
uttered  a  frank  exclamation  of  admiration  at  his  rusc  to 
cheat  La   Tompadour  and   La  Galissoniere  both. 

"  By  St.  I'icoi  ! "  said  he,  "  T  would  rather  go  without 
dinner  for  a  month  than  you  should  not  have  asktil  nic. 
l>igot,  to  help  you  out  of  this  scrape.  What  if  you  did  lit 
to  that  liy-catching  beggar  at  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  who 
has  not  conscience  to  take  a  dishonest  stiver  from  a  cheating: 
Albany  hutchman!  Where  was  the  harm  in  it .-'  P)etti_r  he 
to  him  than  tell  the  truth  to  La  Pompadour  about  that  girl  : 
Kgad  I  Madame  l-'ish  would  serve  you  as  the  Iroquois  served 
my  fat  clerk  at  Chouagen  —  make  roast  meat  of  you —  if  she 
knewMt!  Such  a  pother  about  a  girl!  Damn  the  women, 
always,  I  say,  IJigot !  A  man  is  never  out  of  hot  watei 
when  he  has  to  do  with  them  ! " 

Striking  Ijigot's  hand  hard  with  his  own,  he  promised, 
wet  or  dry,  through  flood  or  lire,  to  ride  with  liim  to 
IJeaumanoir,  and  take  the  girl,  or  lady,  —  he  begged  the 
intendant's  pardon,  —  and  by  such  ways  as  he  alone  knew 
he  would,  in  two  days,  place  her  safely  among  the  Mon- 
tagnais,  and  order  them  at  once,  without  an  hour's  delay,  to 
pull  up  stakes  and  remove  their  wigwams  to  the  iuqiic  of  the 
St.  Maurice,  where  Satan  himself  could  not  find  her.  Ant! 
the  girl  might  remain  there  for  seven  years  without  ever 
being  heard  tell  of  by  any  white  person  in  the  (,'olon\. 

Jiigot  and  Cadet  rode  rapidly  forward  until  they  came 
to  the  dark  forest,  where  the  faint  outline  of  road,  barely 
visible,  would  have  perplexed  Bigot  to  have  kept  it  alone  in 
the  night.  P)Ut  Cadet  was  born  in  Charlebourg ;  he  knew 
every  path,  glade,  and  dingle  in  the  forest  of  Beaumanoir. 
and  rode  on  without  drawing  bridle. 

Bigot,  in  his  fiery  eagerness,  had  hitherto  ridden  fore- 
most. Cadet  now  led  the  way,  dashing  under  the  l)ou<:;hs 
of  the  great  trees  that  overhung  the  road.  The  train])  of 
their  horses  woke  the  echoes  of  the  woods.  But  thev  were 
not  long  in  reaching  the  park  of  Beaumanoir. 


CIKAVES    AND    WORMS    AND    lllllAI'HS. 


475 


They  saw  before  tlieiii  the  tall  chimney-stacks  and  the 
hij^^h  roofs  and  the  white  walls  of  the  Chateau,  lookin*; 
>pcciral  enough  in  the  wan  moonlight,  -  ghostly,  silent. 
ind  ominous.  One  light  only  was  visible  in  the  porter's 
lodge :  all  else  was  dark,  cokl,  and  sepulchral. 

I'lic:  watchful  old  porter  at  the  gate  was  instantly  on  foot 
;o  sec  who  came  at  that  hour,  and  was  surprised  enough  at 
jjirht  of  his  master  and  the  Sieur  Cadet,  witliout  retinue  or 
eVL-n  a  groom  to  accompany  them. 

They  dismounted  and  tied  their  horses  outside  the  gate. 
"Run  to  the  Chateau,  Marcele,  without  making  the  least 
noise,"  said  iJigot.  "Call  none  of  the  servants,  but  rap  gen- 
tly at  the  door  of  Dame  Tremblay.  Hid  her  rise  instantly, 
wiilunit  waking  any  one.  Say  the  Intendant  desires  to 
see  her.      I  e.xpect  guests  from  the  city." 

The  porter  returned  with  the  information  that  Dame 
Tremblay  had  got  up  and  was  ready  to  receive  his 
Kxccllency. 

Bidding  old  Marcele  take  care  of  the  horses,  they  walked 
across  the  lawn  to  the  Chateau,  at  the  dooY  of  which  stootl 
Dame  Tremblay,  hastily  dressed,  courtesying  and  trembling 
at  this  sucklen  summons  to  receive  the  Intendant  and  Sieur 
Cadet. 

"  Good  night,  dame  !  "  said  l^igot,  in  a  low  tone,  "  con- 
duct us  instantly  to  the  grand  gallery." 

"Oh,  your  Excellency!"  replied  the  dame,  courtesying, 
"I  am  your  humble  servant  at  all  times,  day  and  night,  as 
it  is  my  duty  and  my  pleasure  to  serve  my  master  ! " 

"Well,  then!"  returned  bigot,  impatiently,  "let  us  go  in 
and  make  no  noise. 

The  three.  Dame  Tremblav  leading  the  wav  with  a 
candle  in  each  hand,  passed  up  the  broatl  stair  and  into  the 
gallery  communicating  with  the  apartments  of  Caroline. 
The  (lame  set  her  candles  on  the  table  and  st(jod  with  her 
hands  across  her  apron  in  a  submissive  attitude,  waiting  the 
iirders  of  her  master. 

"Dame!"  said  he,  "  I  think  you  are  a  faithful  servant. 
1  lui\c  trusted  you  with  much.  Can  I  trust  you  with  a 
greater  matter  still  ? "' 

"Oh,  your  Ivxcellency  !  I  would  die  to  serve  so  noble  and 
giiierous  a  master  !      It  is  a  servant's  duty  !  " 


476 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


"  Few  servants  think  so,  nor  do  I  !  But  you  have  been 
faithful  to  your  charge  respecting  this  poor  lady  wiihin. 
have  you  not,  dame?"  JJigot  looked  as  if  his  eyes  searched 
her  very  vitals. 

"  O  Lord  !  ()  Lord  ! "  thought  the  dame,  turning  j)alL'. 
"  He  has  heard  about  the  visit  of  that  cursed  Mere  Mal- 
heur, and  he  has  come  to  hang  me  up  for  it  in  the  gajlerv!" 
She  stammered  out  ''n  reply,  '*  Oh,  yes  !  I  have  been  faithful 
to  my  charge  aljout  he  lady,  your  Kxcellency  !  1  have  not 
failed  wilfully  or  negligently  in  any  one  point,  1  assure  vou  : 
1  have  been  at  once  careful  and  kind  to  her,  as  you  i)acle 
me  to  be,  your  Kxcellency.  Indeed,  I  could  not  be  other- 
wise to  a  live  angel  in  the  house  like  her  !  " 

"  So  1  believe,  dame!  "  said  Higot,  in  a  tone  of  approval 
that  quite  lifted  her  heart.  This  spontaneous  praise  of 
Caroline  touched  him  somewhat.  "You  have  done  well  I 
Now  can  you  keep  another  secret,  dame  ?  " 

"  A  secret  !  and  entrusted  to  me  by  your  Kxcellencv  ! " 
replied  she,  in  a  voice  of  wonder  at  such  a  question.  "The 
marble  statue  in  the  grotto  is  not  closer  than  1  am.  your 
l^xcellency.  1  was  always  too  fond  of  a  secret  ever  to  part 
with  it !  When  L  was  the  Charming  Josephine  of  Lake  iieau- 
port  I  never  told,  even  in  confession,  who  they  were  who 

"  Tut !  1  will  trust  you,  dame,  better  than  I  would  have 
trusted  the  Charming  Josephine  !  If  all  tales  be  true,  you 
were  a  gay  girl,  dame,  and  a  handsome  one  in  those  days. 
1  have  heard!"  added  the  Intendant,  with  well-planneil 
liattery. 

iV  smile  and  a  look  of  intelligence  between  the  dame  and 
iJigot  followed  this  sally,  while  Cadet  had  much  to  do  t^ 
keep  in  one  of  the  hearty  horse-laughs  he  used  to  iiululL;i- 
in,  and  which  would  have  roused  tlu;  whole  Chilteau. 

'I'he  Mattery  of  the  Intendant  quite  cai)tivated  the  danii.. 
"  I  will  go  through  lire  and  water  to  serve  your  ivxcellency, 
if  you  want  me,"  said  she.  "  What  shall  I  do  to  ol)li<;e 
your  I'Acellency  ? " 

"Well,  dame,  you  must  know  then  that  the  Sieiu  Cadti 
and  1  have  come  lo  ren>ove  that  dear  lady  from  the  (  h.i 
teau  to  another  place,  where  it  is  needful  for  her  to  go  fur  ilie 
present  time;  and  if  you  are  (piestioned  about  her,  mind  you 
are  to  saj'  she  ne\er  was  here,  and  }ou  know  nothing  of  her'' 


GRAVES    AM)    WORMS    AND    KIM TAl'lIS. 


477 


'•  I  will  not  only  say  it,  "  replied  the  dame  with  prompt- 
ness, "  I  will  swear  it  until  I  am  black  in  the  face  if  you 
command  me,  your  Excellency  !  Poor,  dear  lady  !  may  I 
not  ask  where  she  is  going  ?  " 

"No,  she  will  be  all  right!  I  will  tell  you  in  due  time. 
It  is  needful  for  people  to  change  sometimes,  you  know, 
dame  !  You  comprehend  that !  You  had  to  manage  mat- 
ters discreetly  when  you  were  the  Charming  Josephine.  I 
dare  say  you  had  to  change,  too,  sometimes !  Kvery  woman 
has  an  intrigue  once,  at  least,  in  her  lifetime,  and  wants  a 
change.  IJut  this  lady  is  not  clever  like  the  (.'harming 
J(ise])hine,  therefore  we  have  to  be  clever  for  her !  " 

The  dame  laughed  prudently  yet  knowingly  at  this, 
while  Bigot  continued,  "Now  you  understand  all!  Go  to 
her  chamber,  dame.  Tresent  our  compliments  with  our 
regrets  for  disturbing  her  at  this  hour.  Tell  her  that  the 
liitendant  and  the  Sieur  Cadet  desire  to  see  her  on  impor- 
tant business." 

Dame  Tremblay,  with  a  broad  smile  all  over  her  coun- 
tenance at  her  master's  jocular  allusions  to  the  Charming 
Josephine,  left  at  once  to  carry  her  message  to  the  chamber 
if  Caroline. 

She  passed  out,  while  the  two  gentlemen  waited  in  the 
[[allery,  IHgot  anxious  but  not  doubtful  of  his  influence  to 
persuade  the  gentle  girl  to  leave  the  Chateau,  Cadet  coolly 
resolved  that  she  must  go,  whether  she  liked  it  or  no.  He 
would  banish  every  woman  in  New  I'Tance  to  the  ttiijiic  of 
the  St.  Maurice  had  he  the  power,  in  order  to  rid  himself 
anil  bigot  of  the  eternal  mischief  and  trouble  of  them  ! 

Neither  Bigot  nor  Cadet  spoke  for  st)me  minutes  after 
the  departure  of  the  dame.  They  listened  to  her  foot- 
steps as  the  sound  of  them  died  away  in  the  distant  rooms, 
where  one  door  opened  after  another  as  she  passed  on  to 
the  secret  chamber. 

"She  is  now  at  the  door  of  Caroline!"  thought  Bigot, 
as  his  imagination  followed  Dame  Tremblay  on  her  errand. 
"Slu'  is  now  speaking  to  her.  1  know  Caroline  will  make 
no  delav  to  admit  us."  Cadet  on  his  side  was  very  (luiet 
and  careless  of  aught  save  to  take  the  girl  and  get  her 
safely  away  before  daybreak. 

A  few  moments  of  heavy  silence  and  expectation  passed 


478 


Till'.    (lOI.DKN    I)()(i. 


over  them.  The  howl  of  a  distant  watch-dog  was  heard. 
and  all  was  again  still.  The  low,  monotonous  ticking  of 
the  great  clock  at  the  head  of  the  gallery  made  the  silence 
still  more  oppressive.  It  seemed  to  be  measuring  off  eter- 
nity, not  time. 

The  hour,  the  circumstance,  the  brooding  stillness,  waiter! 
for  a  cry  of  murder  to  ring  through  the  CUuiteau,  waking  it> 
sleepers  and  bidding  them  come  and  see  the  fearful  tragedy 
that  lay  in  the  secret  chamber. 

liut  no  cry  came.  Fortunately  for  IMgot  it  did  not  I  'Hie 
discovery  of  Caroline  de  St.  Castin  under  such  circumstances 
would  have  closed  his  career  in  New  France,  and  ruined  him 
forever  in  the  favor  of  the  Court. 

Dame  Tremblay  returned  to  her  master  and  Cadet  with 
the  information  "  that  the  lady  was  not  in  her  bedchamber. 
but  had  gone  down,  as  was  her  wont,  in  the  still  hours  of  the 
night,  to  pray  in  her  oratory  in  the  setiCt  chamber,  where  she 
wished  never  to  be  disturbed. 

"Well,  dame,"  replied  Higot,  "you  may  retire  to  your 
own  room.  I  will  go  down  to  the  secret  chamber  myself. 
These  \igils  are  killing  her,  poor  girl !  If  your  lady  should 
be  missing  in  the  morning,  remember,  dame,  that  you  make 
no  remark  of  it ;  she  is  going  away  to-night  with  me  and  tlu' 
Sieur  Cadet  and  will  return  soon  again  ;  so  be  discreet  and 
keep  your  tongue  well  between  your  teeth,  which,  I  am  j,dad 
to  observe,"  remarked  he  with  a  smile,  "  are  still  sound  and 
white  as  ivory. 

Uigot  wished  by  such  Hattery  to  secure  her  fidelity,  and  ho 
fully  succeeded.  The  compliment  to  her  teeth  was  more 
agreeable  than  would  have  been  a  purse  of  money.  Ii 
caught  the  dame  with  a  hook  there  was  no  escape  from. 

Dame  Tremblay  courtesied  very  low,  and  smiled  ver\ 
broadly  to  show  her  really  good  teeth,  of  which  she  wa> 
extravagantly  vain.  She  assured  the  Intenda.it  of  her  pertec! 
discretion  and  obedience  to  all  his  commands. 

"Trust  to  me,  your  Fxcelle  icy,"  said  she  with  a  profound 
courtesy.  "  I  never  deceived  a  gentleman  yet,  except  the 
Sieur  Tremblay,  and  he,  good  man.  was  none!  When  1  was 
the  Charming  Jo.sephine,  and  all  the  gay  gallants  of  the  ciiy 
used  to  flatter  and  spoil  me,  I  never  deceived  one  of  them. 
never!     I  knew  that  all  is  vanity  in  this  world,  but  my  t yi  - 


GRAVES    AND    WORMS    AND 


KI'ITArnS. 


479 


and  teeth  were  considered  very  line  in  those  days,  your  Ex- 
cellency." 

"  And  are  yet,  dame.  Zounds!  Lake  Beauport  has  had 
nothin-;  to  equal  them  since  you  retired  from  business  as  a 
beauty.  But  mind  my  ordirs,  dame  !  keep  quiet  and  you 
will  please  me.     (jOod-niy;ht,  dame  !  " 

"Good-night,  your  I'.xcellency  !  Good-night,  your  Honor  !  " 
replied  she.  Hushed  v/ith  gratified  vanity.  She  left  Bigot  vow- 
ing to  herself  that  he  was  the  finest  gentleman  and  the  best 
judne  of  a  woman  in  New  I'rance  !  'I'he  Sieur  Cadet  she 
couKl  not  like.  He  never  locked  pleasant  on  a  woman,  as  a 
:jentleman  ought  to  do! 

The  dame  left  them  to  themselves,  and  went  off  trippingly 
ill  high  spirits  to  her  own  chamber,  where  she  instantly  ran 
to  the  mirror  to  look  at  her  teeth,  and  made  faces  in  the 
p'lass  like  a  foolish  girl  in  her  teens. 

liigot,  out  of  a  feeling  of  delicacy  not  usual  with  him,  bid 
Cadet  wait  in  the  anteroom  while  he  went  forward  to  the 
secret  chamber  of  Caroline.  "The  sudden  presence  of  a 
stranger  might  alarm  her,"  he  said. 

He  descended  the  stair  and  knocked  softly  at  the  door, 
calling  in  a  low  tone,  ''Caroline!  Caroline!"  No  an- 
swer came.  He  wondered  at  that,  for  her  (]uick  ear  used 
always  to  catch  the  first  sound  of  his  footsteps  while  yet 
afar  off. 

He  knocked  louder,  anc.  called  again  her  name.  Alas  !  he 
niii,du  have  called  forever  !  That  voice  would  never  make  her 
heart  tlutter  again  or  her  eyes  brighten  at  his  footstep,  that 
sounded  sweeter  than  any  music  as  she  waited  and  watched 
for  him,  always  ready  to  meet  him  at  the  door. 

iSigot  anticipated  something  wrong,  and  witii  a  hasty  hand 
pushed  open  the  door  of  the  secret  chamlier  and  went  in. 
Ablaze  of  light  filled  his  eyes.  A  white  form  lay  upon  the 
tloor.  He  saw  it  and  he  saw  nothing  else  !  She  lay  there 
\uth  her  unclosed  eves  looking  as  the  dead  onlv  look  at  the 
living.  One  hand  was  pressed  to  her  l)ost)m.  the  other  was 
stretched  out,  holding  the  broken  ^tem  and  a  few  green 
leavL-s  of  the  fatal  bouquet  which  La  Corriveau  had  not 
\\liolly  plucked  from   her  grasp. 

lligot  stood  for  a  moment  stricken  dumb  and  transfixed 
with  horror,  then  sprang  forward  and  knelt  over  her  with  a 


48o 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


l!    t 


cry  of  agony.  He  thought  she  might  have  falkMi  in  a  swoon. 
He  touched  her  pale  forehead,  her  lips,  her  hands,  lie  fell 
her  heart,  it  did  not  beat;  he  lifted  her  head  to  his  bosom, 
it  fell  like  the  flower  of  a  lily  broken  on  its  stem,  and  he 
knew  she  was  dead.  He  saw  the  red  streaks  of  blood  on 
her  snowy  robe,  and  he  knew  she  was  murdered. 

A  long  cry  like  the  wail  of  a  man  in  torture  bur^t  from 
him.  It  woke  more  than  one  sleeper  in  the  distant  cham- 
bers of  the  Chateau,  making  them  start  upon  their  pillows  to 
listen  for  another  cry,  but  none  came.  Jiigot  was  a  man  of 
iron ;  he  retained  self-possession  enough  to  recollect  the  dan- 
ger of  rousing  the  house. 

He  smothered  his  cries  in  suffocating  sobs,  but  they 
reached  the  car  of  Cadet,  who,  foreboding  some  teiiihle 
catastrophe,  rushed  into  the  room  where  the  secret  door 
stood  open.  The  light  glared  up  the  stair.  He  ran  down 
and  saw  the  Intendant  on  his  knees,  holding  in  his  arms  the 
half  raised  form  of  a  woman  which  he  kissed  and  called  hv 
name  like  a  man  distraught  with  grief  and  despair. 

Cadet's  coarse  and  immovable  nature  stood  him  in  «j;oo(l 
stead  at  this  moment.  He  saw  at  a  glance  what  had  hap- 
pened. The  girl  they  had  come  to  bear  away  was  dead  I 
How  ?  He  knew  not;  but  the  Intendant  must  not  he  snf- 
fered  to  make  an  alarm.  There  was  danger  of  discovery  on 
all  sides  now,  and  the  necessity  of  concealment  was  a  thou- 
sand times  greater  than  ever.  There  was  no  time  to  (|uc^- 
tion,  but  instant  help  was  needed.  In  amaze  at  tln'  spec- 
tacle before  him,  Cadet  instantly  flew  to-  the  assistance  of 
the  Intendant. 

He  ai)proached  IMgot  without  speaking  a  word,  allhouf;;h 
his  great  eyes  expressed  a  look  of  sympathy  ne\er  seen  there 
before.  He  disengaged  tlie  dead  form  of  Caroline  tenderly 
from  the  embrace  of  Bigot,  and  laid  it  gently  upon  the  Hoor, 
and  lifting  IJigot  up  in  Ids  stout  arms,  whispered  hoarsely  in 
his  ear,  '•  Keep  still,  IJigot !  keep  still  !  not  one  word  !  make 
no  alarm  !  This  is  a  dreadful  business,  but  we  must  go  to 
another  room  to  consider  calmly,  cahnly,  ndnd,  what  it  moan.^ 
and  what  is  to  be  done." 

"Oh,  Cadet  !  Cadet!  "  moaned  the  Intendant,  still  resting 
on  his  shoulder,  "she  is  dead  I  dead!  when  I  just  wanted 
her  to  live  !     I  have  been  hard  with  women,  but  if  there  wa> 


"GRAVES  AND  WORMS  AND  EPITAl'IlS." 


481 


one  I  loved  it  was  she  who  lies  dead  before  me  !  Who,  who 
has  done  this  bloody  deed  to  me  ?  " 

''  Who  has  done  it  to  her,  you  mean  !  V'ou  are  not  killed 
vet,  old  friend,  but  will  live  to  revenj^e  this  horrid  business  !  " 
answered  Cadet  with  rough  sympathy. 

'*  I  would  give  my  life  to  restore  hers  !  "  replied  Bigot 
despairingly.  "  Oh,  Cadet,  you  never  knew  what  was  in  my 
heart  about  this  girl,  and  how  I  had  resolved  to  make  her 
reparation  for  the  evil  I  had  done  her !  " 

'•  Well,  I  can  guess  what  was  in  your  heart,  Bigot.  Come, 
old  friend,  you  are  getting  more  calm,  you  can  walk  now. 
Let  us  go  upstairs  to  consider  what  is  to  be  done  about  it. 
Damn  the  women  !  They  are  man's  torment  whether  alive  or 
dead!" 

Bigot  was  too  much  absorbed  in  his  own  tumultuous 
feelings  to  notice  Cadet's  remark.  He  allowed  himself  to 
be  led  without  resistance  to  another  room,  out  of  sight  of  the 
murdered  girl,  in  whose  presence  Cadet  knew  calm  council 
was  impossible. 

Cadet  seated  Bigot  on  a  couch  and,  sitting  beside  him, 
bade  him  be  a  man  and  not  a  fool.  He  tried  to  rouse  Bigot 
by  irritating  him,  thinking,  in  his  coarse  way,  that  that  was 
better  than  to  be  maudlin  over  him,  as  he  considered  it,  with 
vain  expressions  of  sympathy. 

'•  1  would  not  give  way  so,'*  said  he,  ''  for  all  the  women  in 
and  out  of  Paradise  !  and  you  are  a  man.  Bigot !  Remember 
you  have  brought  me  here,  and  you  have  to  take  me  safely 
back  again,  out  of  this  den  of  murder." 

"  \'es.  Cadet,"  replied  Bigot,  rousing  himself  up  at  the 
sharp  tone  of  his  friend.  '*  I  must  think  of  your  safety;  I 
care  little  for  my  own  at  this  moment.      Think  for  me." 

"Well,  then,  I  will  think  for  you,  and  1  ihink  this.  Bigot, 
that  if  the  (iovernor  finds  out  this  assa.-.siiiation,  done  in  your 
iiouse,  and  that  you  and  I  ha\tj  been  here  at  this  hour  of 
nii;iu  with  the  murdered  girl,  by  Cod  I  he  will  say  wt.'  hav^^ 
alune  done  it,  and  the  world  will  believe  it!  So  rouse  up,  1 
for  one  do  not  want  to  be  taxed  wilh  the  murder  of  a  woman, 
iind  still  less  to  be  hung  innocently  for  the  death  of  one.  I 
woukl  not  risk  my  little  Ihigcr  for  all  the  women  alive,  let 
alone  my  neck  for  a  dead  one  ! " 

The  suggestion  was  like  a  sharp  probe  in  his  llesii.     It 


482 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


touched  Bigot  to  the  quick.  He  started  up  on  his  feet. 
"  You  are  right,  Cadet,  it  only  wants  that  accusation  to  make 
me  go  mad  !  But  my  head  is  not  my  own  yet  !  I  can  ihink 
of  nothing  but  her  lying  there,  dead  in  her  loveliness  and  in 
her  love  !     Tell  me  what  to  do,  and  I  will  do  it." 

*'Ay.  novv'  you  talk  reasonably.  Now  you  are  coiniiiL:  Ui 
yourself,  Bigot.  We  came  to  remove  her  alive  from  here,  did 
we  not  ?  We  must  now  remove  her  dead.  She  cannot  remain 
where  she  is  at  the  risk  of  certain  discovery  tomorrow." 

"  No,  the  secret  chamber  would  not  hide  such  a  secret  as 
that,"  replied  Bigot,  recovering  his  self-possession.  "  J]ul  how 
to  remove  her  ?  We  cannot  carry  her  forth  without  disco\  ei  y." 
Bigot's  practical  intellect  was  waking  up  to  the  danger  of 
leaving  the  murdered  girl  in  the  Chateau. 

Cadet  rose  and  paced  the  room  with  rapid  strides,  ruhbin^^ 
his  forehead,  and  twitching  his  mustache  violently  "  1  will 
tell  you  what  we  have  got  to  do,  Bigot !  Par  Dicii !  we  nmsl 
bury  her  where  she  is,  down  there  in  the  vaulted  chamber."' 

"What,  bury  her?"  Bigot  looked  at  him  with  intense 
surprise. 

"  Yes,  we  must  bury  her  in  that  very  chamber.  Bigot  We 
must  cover  up  somebody's  damnable  work  to  avert  suspicion 
from  ourselves !  A  pretty  task  for  you  and  me.  Bigot !  Par 
Dicii !  I  could  laugh  like  a  horse,  if  I  were  not  afraid  of 
being  overheard." 

"  But  who  is  to  dig  a  grave  for  her  ?  surely  not  you  or  I," 
replied  Bigot  with  a  look  of  dismay. 

"  Yes,  gentlemen  as  we  are,  you  and  I  must  do  it,  IJiiijot. 
Zounds!  I  learned  to  dig  and  delve  when  I  was  a  stripling 
at  Charlebourg,  and  in  the  trenches  at  Louisbourg,  and  1 
have  not  yet  forgotten  the  knack  of  it !  But  where  lu  gel 
spades,  Bigot;  you  are  master  here  and  ought  to  know."' 

"  I,  how  should  I  know?  It  is  terrible.  Cadet,  to  bury  her 
as  if  we  had  murdered  her  !     Is  there  no  other  wav  ? "' 

"None.  We  are  in  a  cahot^  and  mu.st  get  our  cnriolo  out 
of  it  as  l)est  we  can  !  I  see  plainly  we  two  shall  be  ta.xed 
with  this  murder.  Bigot,  if  we  let  it  be  discovered  !  lle.sides. 
utter  ruin  awaits  you  from  La  Pompadour  if  she  finds  out 
you  ever  had  this  girl  at  Beamnanoir  in  keeping.  Come  I 
time  for  [larley  is  past ;  w  here  shall  we  find  si^adcs  ?  We 
must  to  work,  Bigot  1 " 


"GRAVES    AND    WORMS    AND    EI'ITAPHS. 


483 


1  not  you  or  I," 


A  sudden  thought  Hghted  up  the  eyes  of  the  Intendant, 
who  saw  tlie  force  of  Cadet's  suggestion,  strange  and  repul- 
sive as  it  was.  "  I  think  1  know,"  said  he ;  "  the  gardeners 
keep  their  tools  in  the  old  tower,  and  we  can  get  there  by  the 
secret  passage  and  return." 

"Bravo!"  exclaimed  Cadet,  encouragingly,  "come,  show 
ihe  way,  and  we  will  get  the  tools  in  a  trice !  I  always 
heard  there  was  a  private  way  underground  to  the  old 
lower.  It  never  stood  its  master  in  better  stead  than  now ; 
perhaps  never  worse  if  it  has  let  in  the  murderer  of  this  poor 
l^irl  of  yours." 

Bigot  rose  up,  very  faint  and  weak ;  Cadet  took  his  arm  to 

[>upi)ort   him,  and  bidding  him  be   firm   and   not  give   way 

I  again    at    sight  of    her   dead    body,   led   him    back    to    the 

chamber  of  death.      "Let  us  first  look  around  a  moment," 

said   he,  "  to   find,  if   possible,   some  trace    of    the    hellish 

assassins." 

The  lamps  burned  brightly,  shedding  a  glare  of  light  over 
every  object  in  the  secret  chamber. 

Cadet  looked  narrowly  round,  but  found  little  trace  of  the 

I  murderers.     The  drawers  of  the  escritoire  stood  open,  with 

their  contents  in   great  disorder,   a  circumstance   which   at 

once  suggested  robbers.     Cadet  pointed  it  out  to  Digot  with 

I  the  ([uestion  : 

"  Kept  she  much  money,  Higot  ?  " 

'•  Xone  that  I  know  of.  She  asked  for  none,  poor  girl !  I 
Ijave  her  none,  though  I  would  have  given  her  the  King's 
[treasury  had  she  wished  for  it." 

"I!ut  she  might  have  had  money  when  she  came.  Bigot," 
I  continued  Cadet,  not  doubting  but  robbery  had  been  the 
linoii\e  for  the  murder. 

"It  may  be,  I  never  questioned  her,"  replied  Higot ;  "she 
I  never  spoke  of  money;  alas!  all  the  money  in  the  world 
hvas  as  dross  in  her  estimation.  Other  things  than  money 
[occupied  her  pure  thoughts." 

"Well,  it  looks  like  robbers:  they  have  ransacked  the 
drawers  and  carried  off  all  she  had,  were  it  much  or  little," 
[Miiarked  Cadet,  still  continuing  his  search. 

"  ISut  why  kill  her.''  Oh,  Cadet,  why  kill  the  gentle  girl, 
hvho  would  have  given  every  jewel  in  her  possession  for  the 
bare  asking:.?" 


484 


THE    GOLHEN    DOG. 


"  Nay,  I  cannot  guess,"  said  Cadet.  "  It  looks  like  robbers. 
but  the  mystery  is  beyond  my  wit  to  explain.  "  Wiiat  arc  y(ju 
doing,  Bigot  ? " 

JHgot  bad  knelt  down  by  the  side  of  Caroline ;  he  liticd 
her  hand  first  to  his  lips,  then  towards  Cadet,  to  show  him 
the  stalk  of  a  rose  from  which  the  tlower  had  been  broken, 
and  which  she  held  with  a  grip  so  hard  that  it  could  iioi  bt 
loosened  from  her  dead  fingers. 

The  two  men  looked  long  and  earnestly  at  it,  but  failed 
to  make  a  conjecture  even  why  the  dower  had  been  phu  ked 
from  that  broken  stalk  and  carried  away,  for  it  was  ncji  Id  be 
seen  in  the  room. 

The  fragment  of  a  letter  lay  under  a  chair.  It  was  a 
part  of  that  which  T.a  Corriveau  had  torn  up  and  missed  in 
gather  up  again  with  the  rest.  Cadet  picked  it  up  and 
thrust  it  into  his  pocket. 

The  blood  streaks  upon  her  white  robe  and  the  visililr 
stabs  of  a  fine  poniard  riveted  their  attention.  Thai  ilia' 
was  the  cause  of  her  death  they  doubted  not,  bui  i In- 
mute  eloquence  of  her  wounds  spoke  only  to  the  heart.  Ii 
gave  no  explanation  to  the  intellect.  'Ihe  whole  traged\ 
seemed  wrapped  in  inexplicable  mystery. 

"They  have  covered  their  track  up  well!"  remarked 
Cadet.  "Hey!  but  what  have  we  here  .^ ''  IJigot  started 
up  at  the  exclamation.  The  door  of  the  secret  passage 
stood  open.  La  Corriveau  had  not  closed  it  after  her  when 
making  her  escape.  "  Here  is  where  the  assassins  ha\r 
found  entrance  and  exit !  Egad  !  More  people  know  iIk 
secret  of  your  Chateau  than  you  think,  Djgot !  " 

They  sprang  forward,   and  each  seizing  a  lamp,  the  two 
men  rushed  into  the  narrow  passage.      It  was  dark  and  stil 
as  the  catacombs.     No  trace  of  anything   to    the    piuposu! 
could  they  perceive  in  the  vaulted  subterranean  wa)  to  the 
turret. 

They  speedily  came  to  the  other  end;  the    secret   doori 
there    stood    open    also.     They  ascended    the  stairs  in  tin; 
tower,  but  could  see  no  trace  of  the  murderers.     "  It  is  uselessi 
to  search  further  for  them   at  this  time,"  remarked  (\ulet; 
"  perhaps  not  safe  at  any  time,  but   I   would  gi\  e  my  l)c^t| 
horse  to  lay  hands  on  the  assassins  at  this  moment." 

Gardeners'  tools  lay  around  the  room.      "  Here,"  exclaiimd 


"GRAVES    AND    WORMS    AND    EPITAPHS. 


485 


Cadet,  "is  what  is  equally  germane  to  the  matter,  and  we 
have  no  time  to  lose." 

He  seized  a  couple  of  spades  and  a  bar  of  iron,  and 
bidding  liigot  go  before  him  with  the  lights,  they  returned 
10  Uie  chamber  of  death. 

'•  .\ow  for  work !  This  sad  business  must  be  done  well, 
.iiid  (lone  quickly  !  "  exclaimed  Cadet.  "  You  shall  see  that 
1  have  not  forgotten  how  to  dig,  Bigot ! " 

Cadet  threw  off  his  coat,  and  setting  to  work,  jDulled  up 
the  thick  carpet  from  one  side  of  the  chamber.  The  floor 
was  covered  with  broad,  smooth  Hags,  one  of  which  he 
attacked  with  the  iron  bar,  raised  the  flagstone  and  turned 
it  over;  another  easily  followed,  and  very  soon  a  space  in 
the  dry  brown  earth  was  exposed,  large  enough  to  make  a 
(jra\'e. 

})igot  looked  at  him  in  a  sort  of  dream.  "  I  cannot  do  it. 
Cadet!  I  cannot  dig  her  grave!"  and  he  threw  down  the 
spade  which  he  had  taken  feebly  in  his  hand. 

"No  matter,  IJigot  !  I  will  do  it  !  Indeed,  you  would  only 
be  in  my  way.  Sit  down  while  I  dig,  old  friend.  J\ir  Dicn  ! 
this  is  nice  work  for  the  Commissary  General  of  New  France, 
with  the  Royal  Intendant  overseeing  him  !  " 

lligot  sat  down  and  looked  forlornly  on  while  Cadet  with 
the  arms  of  a  Hercules  dug  and  dug,  throwing  out  the  earth 
without  stopi)ing  for  the  space  of  a  quarter  of  fiii  hour,  until 
he  had  made  a  grave  large  and  deep  enough  to  contain 
the  body  of  the  hapless  girl. 

"That  will  do!"  cried  he,  leaping  out  of  the  pit.  ''Our 
fuiH  ral  arrangements  must  be  of  the  briefest,  Bigot !  So 
come  help  me  to  shroud  this  |)o()r  girl." 

Cadet  found  a  sheet  of  linen  and  some  fine  blankets  upon 
.1  touch  in  the  secret  chamber.  He  spread  them  out  upon 
the  lloor.  and  motioned  to  Bigot  without  speaking.  The  two 
men  lifted  Caroline  tenderly  and  reverently  upon  the  sheet. 
They  gazed  at  her  for  a  minute  in  solemn  silence,  before 
^hl•()lKling  her  fair  face  and  slender  form  in  their  last  wind- 
in;;-sheet.  Bigot  was  overpoweied  with  his  feelings,  yet 
strove  to  master  them,  as  he  gulped  down  the  rising  in  his 
throat  which  at  times  almost  strangled  him. 

Cadet,  eager  to  get  his  painful  task  over,  took  from 
the  slender  finger  of  Caroline  a  ring,  a  love-gift  of   Bigot, 


486 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


and  from  her  neck  a  j^jolden  locket  containing  his  portrait 
and  a  lock  of  his  hair.  A  rosary  hung  at  her  \vai>t ;  this 
Cadet  also  detached,  as  a  precious  relic  to  be  given  to 
the  Intendant  by  and  by.  There  was  one  thread  of  silk 
woven  into  the  coarse  hempen  nature  of  Cadet. 

Bigot  stooped  down  and  gave  her  pale  lips  and  cvo. 
which  he  liad  tenderly  closed,  a  last  despairing  kiss,  before 
veiling  her  face  with  the  winding  sheet  as  she  lay,  white  a.-, 
a  snow-drift,  and  as  cold.  They  wrapj^ed  her  softly  in  the 
blankets,  and  without  a  word  spoken,  lowered  the  still,  lis- 
som body  into  its  rude  grave. 

The  awful  silence  was  only  broken  b)-  the  spasmodic  sohs 
of  Bigot  as  he  leaned  over  the  grave  to  look  his  last  upon 
the  form  of  the  fair  girl  whom  he  had  betrayed  and  brouulu 
to  this  untimely  end.  ""  iMca  culpa  !  Mca  iihi.\:i)iia  culpa!" 
said  he,  beating  his  breast.  "  ( )h.  Cadet,  we  are  buryin*; 
her  like  a  dog!     1  cannot,  I  cannot  do  it!" 

The  Intendant's  feelings  overcame  him  again,  and  he 
rushed  from  the  chamber,  while  Cadet,  glad  of  iiis  absence 
for  a  few  moments,  hastily  filled  up  the  grave  and,  replacinL;; 
with  much  care  the  stone  slabs  over  it,  swept  the  debris  into 
the  passage  and  spread  the  carpet  again  smoothly  over  the 
floor.  Every  trace  of  the  dreadful  deed  was  obliterated 
in  the  chamber  of  murder. 

Cadet,  acutely  thinking  of  everything  at  this  supreme 
moment,  would  leave  no  ground  of  suspicion  for  Dame 
Tremblay  when  she  came  in  the  morning  to  visit  the  cham- 
ber. She  should  think  that  her  lady  had  gone  away  witii 
her  master  as  mysteriously  as  she  had  come,  and  no  further 
inquiry  would  be  made  after  her.     In  thts  Cadet  was  riu;ht. 

It  was  necessary  for  Cadet  and  l>igot  now  to  depart  by 
the  secret  passage  to  the  tower.  The  deep-toned  bell  of  the 
chateau  struck  three. 

"  We  must  now  be  gone.  Bigot,  and  instantly,"  exclaimed 
Cadet.  "  Our  night  work  is  done  !  Let  us  see  what  day 
will  bring  forth  !  You  must  see  to  it  to-morrow,  liiuot. 
that  no  man  or  woman  alive  ever  again  enter  this  accursed 
chamber  of  death  !  " 

Cadet  fastened  the  secret  door  of  the  stair,  and  gath 
ering  up  his  spades  and  bar  of  iron,  left  the  ciiamltcr 
with  Bigot,  who  was  passive  as  a  child  in  his  hands.     The 


GRAVES    AND    WORMS    AND    EPITAPHS. 


487 


n^  his  portiLiit 
her  waist ;  this 

0  be    ^iven  to 
threaci.  of  silk 

;l. 

lips  and  evo. 
ing  kiss,  before 
le  lav,  while  a> 
er  softlv  in  the 
xl  the  still,  lis- 

spasniodic  sobs 
k  his  last  upon 
ed  and  l)r(.>u^lu 

A'e  are  buryinj^ 

again,  and  he 
of  his  absence 

1  and,  replacinii; 
the  debris  into 

00th ly  over  the 
^vas    ol)literate(l 

this  supreme 
:ion    for    1  )anic 

visit  the  chain- 
jTone  awav  with 
,  and  no  further 

adet  was  riLj;ht. 
)w  to  depart  i)y 
oned  bell  of  the 

itly,"  exclaimed 
IS  see  what  d;iy 
-morrow,  ISi^^ot. 
;er  this  accursed 

stair,  and  ,^ath 
ft  the  chamber 
lis  hands.     Tlii-' 


Intendant  turned  round  and  gave  one  last  sorrowful  look  at 
the  now  darkened  room  as  they  left  it.  Cadet  and  he  made 
tht.r  way  back  to  the  tower.  They  sallied  out  into  the  open 
air,  which  blew  fresh  and  re\  iving  upon  their  fevered  faces 
after  escaping  from  the  stifling  atmosphere  below. 

They  proceeded  at  once  towards  their  horses  and  mounted 
them,  but  Bigot  felt  deadly  faint  and  halted  under  a  tree 
while  Cadet  rode  back  to  the  porter's  lodge  and  roused  up 
old  Marcele  to  give  him  some  brandy,  if  he  had  any,  "  as  of 
course  he  had,"  said  Cadet.  "  Brandy  was  a  gate-porter's 
inside  livery,  the  lining  of  his  laced  coat  which  he  always 
wore."  Cadet  assumed  a  levity  which  he  did  not  really 
feel. 

Marcele  fortunately  could  oblige  the  Sieur  Cadet.  '•  He 
did  line  his  livery  a  little,  but  lightly,  as  his  Honor  would 
see  ! "  said  he,  bringing  out  a  bottle  of  cognac  and  a  drink- 
ing-cup. 

•'  It  is  to  keep  us  from  catching  cold !  "  continued  Cadet 
in  his  peculiar  way.  "  Is  it  good  .-^  "  He  placed  the  bottle  to 
his  lips  and  tasted  it. 

iMarcele  assured  him  it  was  good  as  gold. 

"Right!"  said  Cadet,  throwing  Marcele  a  louis  d'or. 
"I  will  take  the  bottle  to  the  Intendant  to  keep  him  from 
catching  cold  too  !  Mind,  Marcele,  you  keep  your  tongue 
still,  or  else  — !  "  Cadet  held  up  his  whip,  and  bidding  the 
porter  "  good-night !  "  rejoined  liigot. 

Cadet  had  a  crafty  design  in  this  proceeding.  He 
wanted  not  to  tell  Marcele  that  a  lady  was  accompanying 
theiii ;  also  not  to  let  him  perceive  that  they  left  Beaumanoir 
without  one.  He  feared  that  the  old  porter  and  Dame 
Tremblay  might  possibly  compare  notes  together,  and  the 
Housekeeper  cliscover  that  Caroline  had  not  left  Beaumanoir 
with  the  Intendant. 

bigot  sat  faint  and  listless  in  his  saddle  when  Cadet 
poured  out  a  large  cupful  of  brandy  and  offered  it  to  him. 
He  drank  it  eagerly.  Cadet  then  filled  and  gidped  down  a 
lar<^e  cupful  himself,  then  gave  another  to  the  Intendant, 
and  poured  another  and  another  for  himself  until,  he  said, 
he  "began  to  feel  warm  and  comfortable,  and  got  the  dam- 
nable taste  of  grave-digging  out  of  his  mouth  !  " 

The  heavy  draught  which  Cadet  forced  the  Intendant  to 


488 


THE    GOLDKN    l)()(i. 


take  relieved  him  somewhat,  but  he  groaned  inwardlv  and 
would  not  speak.  Cadet  respected  his  mood,  only  biddin" 
him  ride  fast.  They  spurred  their  horses,  and  rode  swifih, 
unobserved  by  any  one,  until  they  entered  the  gates  of  tlie 
Palace  of  the  Intendant. 

The  arrival  of  the  Intendant  or  the  Sieur  Cadet  at  the 
Palace  at  any  untimely  hour  of  the  night  excited  no  remark 
whatever,  for  it  was  the  rule,  rather  than  the  excei)ii(,n 
with  them  both. 

Dame  'i'remblay  was  not  surprised  next  morning  to  tind 
the  chamber  empty  and  the  lady  gone. 

She  shook  her  head  sadly.  "  He  is  a  wild  gallant,  is 
my  master !  No  wilder  ever  came  to  Lake  J]eauport  when 
I  was  the  Charming  Josephine  and  all  the  world  ran  alter 
me.  iiut  I  can  keep  a  secret,  and  1  will  !  This  secret  i 
must  keep  at  any  rate,  )y  the  Intendant's  order,  and  I 
would  rather  die  than  be  raided  at  by  that  fierce  Sieur  Cadet  I 
1  will  keep  the  Intendant's  secret  safe  as  my  teeth,  which  he 
praised  so  handsomely  and  so  justly  !  " 

The  fact  that  Caroline  never  ret.irned  to  the  Chateau, 
and  that  the  search  for  her  was  so  long  and  so  vainly  car- 
ried on  by  La  Corne  St.  Luc  and  the  IJaron  de  St.  (  aNtin. 
caused  the  dame  to  suspect  at  last  that  some  foul  pla\  had 
been  perpetrated,  but  she  dared  not  speak  openly. 

The  old  woman's  suspici  '""^-  grew  with  age  into  cer- 
tainties, when  at  last  she  chanced  to  talk  with  her  old  fel- 
low servant,  Marcele,  the  gatekeeper,  and  learned  fioiri 
him  that  Bigot  and  Cadet  had  left  the  Chateau  alone  on  that 
fatal  night.  Dame  Tremblay  was  more  perplexed  than  ever. 
She  talked,  she  knew  not  what,  but  her  talk  passed  \nU)  the 
traditions  of  the  habitans. 

it  became  the  popular  belief  that  a  beautiful  woman,  the 
mistress  of  the  powerful  Intendant  Bigot,  had  been  murdered 
and  buried  in  the  Chateau  of  Peaumanoir. 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 


lorniim  to  find 


SILK    GLUVKS    OVER    FiLOODY    HANDS. 

IT  was  long  before  Angcli(iue  came  to  herself  from  the 
swoon  in  which  she  had  been  left  lying  on  the  floor 
by  La  Corriveau.  r'ortunaiely  for  her  it  was  without  dis- 
covery. None  of  the  servants  happened  to  come  to  her 
room  during  its  continuance,  else  a  weakness  so  strange  to 
her  usual  hardihood  would  have  become  the  city's  talk  before 
night,  and  set  all  its  idle  tongues  conjecturing  or  inventing 
\  reason  for  it.  It  would  have  reached  the  ears  of  Bigot,  as 
every  spray  of  gossip  did,  and  set  him  thinking,  too,  more 
savagely  than  he  was  yet  doing,  as  to  the  causes  and  occa- 
sions of  the  murder  of  Caroline. 

All  the  way  back  to  the  Palace,  Bigot  had  scarcely 
spoken  a  word  to  Cadet.  His  mind  was  in  a  tumult  of  the 
wildest  conjectures,  and  his  thoughts  ran  to  and  fro  like 
hounds  in  a  thick  brake  darling  in  every  direction  to  find 
liie  scent  of  the  game  they  were  in  search  of.  When  they 
reached  the  Palace,  Bigot,  without  speaking  to  any  one, 
passed  through  the  anterooms  to  his  own  apartment,  and 
threw  himself,  dressed  and  booted  as  he  was,  upon  a  couch, 
where  he  lay  like  a  man  stricken  down  by  a  mace  from  some 
unseen  hand. 

Cadet  had  coarser  ways  of  relieving  himself  from  the  late 
unusual  strain  upon  his  rough  feelings.  He  went  down  to 
tile  billiard-room,  and  joining  recklessly  in  the  game  that 
was  still  kept  up  by  I)e  Pean,  Le  (iardeur,  and  a  number  of 
wild  associates,  strove  to  drown  all  recollections  of  the  past 
night  at  lieaumanoir  by  drinking  and  gambling  with  more 
than  usual  violence  until  far  on  in  the   day. 

bigot  neither  slept  nor  wished  to  sleep.  The  image  of 
the  murdered  girl  Ivinir  in  her  rude  grave  was  ever  before 
him,  with  a  vividness  so  terrible  that  it  seemed   he  could 

489 


490 


THK    (iOLDEN    IXJC. 


never  sleep  again.  His  thoughts  ran  round  and  round 
like  a  mill-wheel,  without  advancing  a  step  towards  a  solution 
of  the  mystery  of  iier  death. 

He  summoned  up  his  recollections  of  every  man  and 
woman  he  knew  in  the  Colony,  and  asked  himself  regar(lin<' 
each  one,  the  question,  "Is  it  he  who  has  done  this.^  is  it 
she  who  has  prompted  it .''  And  who  could  have  had  a  motive. 
and  who  not,  to  perpetrate  such  a  bloody  deed  ? " 

One  image  came  again  and  again  before  his  mind's  eve 
as  he  reviewed  the  list  of  his  friends  and  enemies.  Tlu' 
figure  of  Angelique  appeared  and  reapj^eared,  intnidintr 
itself  between  every  third  or  fourth  personage  which  his 
memory  called  up,  until  his  thoughts  tiyod  upon  her  with 
the  maddening  inquiry,  "  Could  Angelicjue  des  Moloises 
have  been  guilty  of  this  terrible  deed.-*" 

He  remembered  her  passionate  denunciation  of  the  ladv 
of  lieaumanoir,  her  fierce  demand  for  her  banishment  by  a 
Icttrc  (/('  Ciuiict.  He  knew  her  ambition  and  recklessness,  but 
still,  versed  a,;  he  was  in  all  the  ways  of  wickedness,  and 
knowing  the  inexorable  bitterness  of  envy,  and  the  crueltv 
of  jealousy  in  the  female  breast,  —  at  least  in  such  women  a> 
he  had  for  the  most  part  had  experience  of,  —  Bigot  could 
hardly  admit  the  thought  that  one  so  fair  as  Angt'lique.  one 
who  held  him  in  a  golden  net  of  fascination,  and  to  whom 
he  had  been  more  than  once  on  the  point  of  yielding,  could 
have  committed  so  great  a  crime. 

He  struggled  with  his  thoughts  like  a  man  amid  tossing 
waves,  groping  about  in  the  dark  for  a  plank  to  lloat  upon. 
but  could  find  none.  Still,  in  spite  of  himself,  in  spile  of 
his  \iolent  asseverations  that  "  it  was  inipossiblc ;''  '\\\  spite 
of  Cadet's  jilausible  theory  of  robbers, —  which  l)igot  at  lirst 
seized  upon  as  the  likeliest  explanation  of  the  mystery,-  the 
thought  of  Angelique  ever  returned  back  upon  him  like  a 
fresh  accusation. 

He  could  not  accuse  her  yet,  though  something  told  Inni 
he  nnght  ha\e  to  do  so  at  last.  He  grew  angry  at  the  r\tr 
recurring  thought  of  her,  and  turning  his  face  to  the  \\  lii. 
liki-  a  man  Hying  to  shut  out  the  light,  resolved  to  force 
ilisl)elief  in  her  guilt  until  clearer  testimony  than  his  own 
susjiieions  should  convict  her  of  the  death  of  Caroline. 
And   yet   in    his    secret   soul   he   dreaded  a  discovery  that 


SILK    (iLOVr.S    OVER    R-.OODV    IIAXOS. 


491 


might  turii  out  as  he  feared.  JUit  he  pushed  the  bhick 
tlujuj^hls  aside;  he  would  wait  and  watcii  for  wiiat  he  feared 
to  find. 

The  fact  of  ("aroline's  ccniceahnent  at  P)eauinanoir,  and 
her  murder  at  the  very  moment  when  the  search  was  al)out 
to  be  made  for  her,  phiced  IJii^ot  in  the  crudest  dilemma. 
Whatever  his  suspicions  might  ue,  he  dared  not,  l)y  word  or 
sign,  avow  any  knowledge  of  Caroline's  presence,  still  less 
of  her  mysterious  murder,  in  his  (iuiteau.  Her  grave  had 
been  dug;  she  had  been  secretly  buried  out  of  human  sight, 
and  he  was  under  bonds  as  for  his  \ery  life  never  to  let  the 
dreadful  mystery  be  disccnered. 

So  Uigot  lay  on  his  couch,  for  once  a  weak  and  fright- 
ened man,  registeiing  vain  vows  of  vengeance  against  per- 
sons unknown,  vows  which  he  knew  at  the  moment  were 
empty  as  bubbles,  because  he  dared  not  move  hand  or  foot 
in  tlie  matter  to  carry  them  out,  or  make  open  accusation 
against  any  one  of  the  foul  crime.  What  thoughts  came 
to  bigot's  subtle  mind  were  best  known  to  himself,  but 
something  was  suggested  by  the  mocking  devil  who  was 
iiever  far  from  him,  and  he  caught  and  held  fast  the  wicked 
suggestion  with  a  bitter  laugh.  He  then  grew  suddenly  still 
and  said  to  himself,  "I  will  sleep  on  it!"  and  i)illo\\ing  his 
head  cpiietly,  not  in  sleep,  l)ut  in  thoughts  deejjer  than  sleep, 
he  lay  till  day. 

Angelique,  who  had  ne\  cr  in  her  life  swooned  before, 
felt,  when  she  awoke,  like  t)ne  leturning  to  life  from  death. 
She  opened  her  eyes  wondering  where  she  was,  and  half 
remembering  the  things  she  had  heard  as  things  she  had 
seen,  looked  anxiously  around  the  room  for  La  C'orriveau. 
She  rose  up  with  a  start  when  she  saw  she  was  gone,  for 
.\ngelic|uc  recf)ilecte(l  suddenly  th;'.t  La  (Orrixeau  now  held 
the  terrible  secret  which  concerned  her  life  and  i)eace  for 
iviTiuore. 

The  thing  she  had  so  long  wished  for,  and  prayed  for, 
was  al  last  done!  ller  ri\'al  was  out  of  tlie  way!  but  she 
also  fi'h  thai  if  the  iiiindur  was  discovered  Ium  own  life  was 
foiii'il  to  the  law,  antl  the  sec  ii't  was  in  tin;  keeping  of  the 
\ilesl  of  women, 

A  mountain,  not  of  remorse,  but  of  apjirehension.  over- 
whelmed  her  for  a  time.      but   Angelique's   mind  was  too 


49^ 


TllK    (iOLDEN    DOG. 


intensely  ssllish,  hard,  and  superficial,  to  give  way  to  the 
remorse  of  a  deeper  nature. 

She  was  angry  at  her  own  cowardice,  but  she  feared  the 
suspicions  of  Bigot.  There  was  ever  something  in  his  dark 
nature  which  she  could  not  fathom,  and  deep  and  ciafiv 
as  she  knew  herself  to  be,  she  feared  that  he  was  more  deep 
and  more  crafty  than  herself. 

What  if  he  should  discover  her  hand  in  this  bloodv 
business  ?  The  thought  drove  her  frantic,  until  she  fancied 
s'.ie  repented  of  the  deed. 

Had  it  brought  a  certainty,  this  crime,  then  —  why,  then  - 
she  had  found  a  compensation  for  the  risk  she  was  running. 
for  the  pain  she  was  enduring,  which  she  tried  to  beHevc  was 
regret  and  pity  for  her  victim.  Her  anxiety  redoul)lcd  when 
it  occurred  to  her  that  Bigot,  remembering  her  passionate  ap- 
peals to  him  for  the  removal  of  Caroline,  might  suspect  her  of 
the  murder  as  the  one  alone  having  a  palpable  interest  in  it, 

"  liut  Bigot  shall  never  believe  it  even  if  he  suspect  it:" 
exclaimed  she  at  last,  shaking  off  her  fears.  "  1  have  made 
fools  of  many  men  for  my  pleasure,  I  can  surely  blind  one 
for  my  safety;  and,  after  all,  whose  fault  is  it  but  Bigot's? 
He  would  not  grant  me  the  kttre  dc  rac/icf,  nor  keep  his 
promise  for  her  removal.  He  even  gave  me  her  life  !  But 
he  lied ;  he  did  not  mean  it.  He  loved  her  too  well,  and 
meant  to  deceive  me  and  marry  her,  and  /  have  deceived 
him  and  shall  marry  him,  that  is  all!"  and  An^eliciue 
laughed  a  hysterical  laugh,  such  as  Dives  in  his  torments 
may  sometimes  give  way  to. 

"  La  Corriveau  has  betrayed  her  trust  in  one  terrible 
point,"  continued  she  "she  ]')romised  a  death  so  easy 
that  all  men  would  say  the  lady  of  Beaumanoir  died  of 
heartbreak  only,  or  by  (Jod's  visitation!  A  natural  death! 
'I'he  foul  witch  has  used  her  stiletto  and  made  a  murder  nf 
that  which,  without  it,  had  beer  none!  Bigot  will  know 
it,  must  know  it  even  if  he  dare  not  reveal  it  !  for  how  in 
the  name  of  all  the  saints  is  it  to  be  concealed  ? 

"  But,  my  (lod  !  this  will  i^ever  do  !  "  continued  the.  start 
ing  up,  "  1  look  like  vtM-y  guilt  1  "     She  staied  fiercely  in  the 
mirror  at  her  hollow  eyes,  pale  cheeks,  and  white  lijis.     She 


scarcely  recognized  herself, 
vanished  for  the  time. 


Her  bloom  and  brightness  had 


SILK    GI.OVI.S    (,VKK    HLUODN     HANDS. 


493 


ve  way  to  ilu 


'•What  if  I  have  inhaled  some  of  the  poisoned  otlor  of 
ihose  cursed  roses  ? "  thought  she,  shuddering;  at  the  sup- 
position ;  but  she  reassured  herself  that  it  could  not  be. 
•  .Still,  my  looks  condemn  me  !  The  pale  face  of  that  dead 
^irl  is  locjking  at  me  out  of  mine  !  Higot,  if  he  sees  me, 
uijl  not  fail  to  read  the  secret  in  my  looks." 

.She  fjlanced  at  the  clock  :  the  mornino-  was  far  advanced 
towards  noon;  visitors  might  soon  arrive.  iJigot  himself 
might  come,  she  dare  not  deny  herself  to  him.  She 
would  deny  her.self  to  no  one  to-day  !  She  would  go 
everywhere  and  see  everybody,  and  shcnv  the  world,  if 
talk  of  it  should  arise,  that  she  was  wholly  innocent  of 
tliat  girl's  Ijlood, 

.She  would  wear  her  brightest  looks,  her  gayest  robe, 
her  hat  and  feathers  the  newest  from  I'aris.  She  would 
ride  out  into  the  city, —  go  to  the  Cathedral,  —  show  herself 
to  all  he.  friends,  and  make  every  one  say  or  think  that 
AiiL^clique  des  Meloises  had  not  a  care  or  trouble  in  the 
world. 

She  rang  for  Fanchon,  impatient  to  commence  her  toi- 
let, for  when  dressed  she  knew  that  she  would  feel  like 
herself  once  more,  cool  and  defiant.  The  touch  of  her 
armor  of  fashionable  attire  would  restore  her  confidence 
in  herself,  and  enable  her  to  brave  down  any  suspicion  in 
the  mind  of  the  Intendant.  —  at  any  rate  it  was  her  only 
resource,  and  Angelique  was  not  one  to  give  up  even  a  lost 
battle,  let  alone  one  half  gained  through  the  death  of 
her  rival. 

Fanchon  came  in  haste  at  the  summons  of  her  mistress. 
She  had  h  ng  waited  to  hear  the  bell,  and  began  to  fear 
she  was  sick  or  in  one  of  those  wild  moods  which  had  come 
over  her  occasionally  since  the  night  of  her  last  interview 
with  Le  Gardeur. 

The  gill  started  at  sight  of  the  pale  face  and  paler  lips 
nf  her  mistress.  She  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surpri.se, 
but  .\ngeli(iue,  anticipating  all  questions,  told  her  she  was 
unwell,  h#t  would  dress  and  luke  a  ride  out  in  the  fresh  air 
and  sunshine  to  recruit. 

"Hut  had  you  not   better  see   the  physician,  my  Lady  .> 

you  do  look  so  pale  to-day,  you  are  really  not  well  !  " 

'•  i\o,  but  1  will  ride  out;  "   and  she  added  in  her  okl  way, 


494 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


''perhaps,  Fanchon,  I  may  meet  some  one  who  will  h(> 
better  eompany  than  the  physician.  Qui  saitr'  And  she 
laughed  with  an  appearance  of  gaiety  which  she  was  far 
from  feeling,  and  which  only  half  imposed  on  the  fiuick- 
witted  maid  who  waited  upon  her. 

"  Where  is  your  aunt,  Fanchon  ?  When  did  you  sci 
Dame  Dodier?"  asked  she,  really  anxious  to  learn  wlut 
had  become  of  La  (."orrixeau, 

"She  returned  home  this  morning,  my  Lady  !  1  had  na 
seen  her  for  days  before,  but  supposed  she  had  alrcadv 
gone  back  to  St.  Valier,  —  but  Aunt  Dodier  is  a  strano^c 
woman,  and  tells  no  one  her  business." 

"She  has,  perhaps,  other  lost  jewels  to  look  after  beside.- 
mine,"  rejDlied  Angelique  mechanically,  yet  feeling  easier 
upon  learning  the  departure  of  La  Corriveau. 

"  Perhaps  so,  my  Lady.  I  am  glad  she  is  gone  home. 
1  shall  never  wish  to  see  her  again." 

"Why.''"  asked  Angelique,  sharply,  wondering  if  I'an 
chon  had  conjectured  anything  of  her  aunt's  business. 

"  They  say  she  has  dealings  with  that  horrid  Mere  Mal- 
heur, and  1  believe  it,"  replied  Fanchon,  with  a  shrug  of 
disgust. 

"  Ah  !  do  you  think  Mere  Malheur  knows  her  l)usiness 
or  any  of  your  aunt's  secrets,  Fanchon?"  asked  Angeli(|ue. 
thoroughly  roused. 

"  ]  think  she  does,  my  Lady, —  you  cannot  live  in  a  chim- 
ney with  another  without  both  getting  black  alike,  and  Mere 
IVLdheur  is  a  black  witch  as  sure  as  my  aunt  is  a  while  one," 
was  Fanchon's  reply. 

"What  said  your  aunt  on  leaving?"   asked  her  mistress. 

"I  did  not  see  hn"  leave,  my  Lady;  I  only  learned  from 
Ambroise  (iariepy  that  she  had  crossed  the  river  this  morn- 
ing to  return  to  St.  Valier." 

"  And  who  is  Ambroise  (lariepy,  Fanchon  ?  You  have  a 
wide  circle  of  acquaintance  for  a  young  girl,  I  think!" 
AngL'lique  knew  the  dangers  of  gossiping  too  well  nol  to 
fear  l''anchon's  imprudences. 

"Yes,  my  Lady,"  replied  Fanchon  with  affected  sim- 
plicity, "  Ambroise  Ganepy  keeps  the  Lion  Vert  anil  the 
ferry  upon  the  south  shore;  he  brings  me  news  and  some- 
times a  little  present  from   the  pack  of  the  JJasque  pedlers, 


SILK    (JLOVES    OVER    BLOODY    HANDS. 


495 


after  besides 


—  he  brought  me  this  comb,  my  Lady!"  Fanchon  turned 
her  head  to  show  her  mistress  a  superb  coml)  in  her  thick 
black  hair,  and  in  her  delight  of  talking  of  Ambroise  Cia- 
riepy,  the  little  inn  of  the  ferry,  and  the  cross  that  leaned 
like  a  failing  memory  over  the  grave  of  his  former  wife, 
Fanchon  quite  forgot  to  ease  her  mind  further  on  the  sub- 
ject of  La  Corriveau,  nor  did  Angel icjue  resume  the  dan- 
gerous topic. 

Fanchon's  easy,  shallow  way  of  talking  of  her  lover 
touched  a  sympathetic  chord  in  the  breast  of  her  mistress. 
Grand  passions  were  grand  follies  in  Angelique's  estimation, 
which  she  was  less  capable  of  appreciating  than  even  her 
maid;  but  Hirtation  and  coquetry,  skin-deep  only,  she  could 
understand,  and  relished  beyond  all  other  enjoyments.  It 
was  just  now  like  medicine  to  her  racking  thoughts  to  listen 
to  Fanchon's  shallow  gossip. 

She  had  done  what  she  had  done,  she  reflected,  and  it 
could  not  be  undone  !  why  should  she  give  way  to  regret, 
and  lose  the  prize  for  which  she  had  staked  so  hea\  ily  ? 
She  would  not  do  it !  No,  par  Dicu  !  vShe  had  thrown 
Le  Gardeur  to  the  fishes  for  the  sake  of  the  Intendant, 
and  had  done  that  other  deed !  She  shied  off  from  the 
thought  of  it  as  from  an  uncouth  thing  in  the  dark,  and 
began  to  feel  shame  of  her  weakness  at  having  fainted  at 
the  tale  of  La  Corriveau. 

The  light  talk  of  Ininchon  while  dressing  the  long  golden 
hair  of  her  mistress  and  assisting  her  to  put  on  a  new  riding- 
dress  and  the  plumed  hat  fresh  from  Paris,  which  she  had  not 
yet  displayed  in  public,  did  much  to  restore  hei  equanimity. 

Iler  face  had,  however,  not  recovered  from  its  strange 
pallor.  Her  eager  maid,  anxious  for  the  looks  of  her 
mistress,  insisted  on  a  little  rouge,  which  Angelicpie's  natural 
bloom  had  never  before  needed.  She  submitted,  for  she 
intended  to  look  her  best  to-day,  she  said.  "Who  knows 
whom  I  shall  fall  in  with  ? " 

"That  is  right,  my  Lady,"  exclaimed  Fanchon  admiringly, 
"no  one  could  be  dressed  perfectly  as  you  are  and  be  sick  ! 
1  pity  the  gentleman  you  meet  to-day,  that  is  all  !  There  is 
murder  in  your  eye,  my  Lady !  " 

Poor  Fanchon  believed  she  was  only  complimenting  her 
mistress,   and  at  other   times    her  remark  would  only  have 


496 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


called  forth  a  joyous  laugh  ;  now  the  word  seemed  like  a 
sharp  knife :  it  cut,  and  Angelique  did  not  laugh.  Sin- 
pushed  her  maid  forcibly  away  fron.  her,  and  was  on  the 
point  of  breaking  out  into  some  violent  exclamation  when. 
recalled  by  the  amazed  look  of  Fanchon,  she  turned  the 
subject  adroitly,  and  asked,  *'  Where  is  my  brother  ? " 

"Oone  with  the  Chevalier  de  I'ean  to  the  Palace,  mv 
Ivady  !  "  replied  Fanchon,  trembling  all  over,  and  vvonderinu 
how  she  had  angered  her  mistress. 

"How  know  you  that,  Fanchon.'"'  asked  Angelique,  w 
covering  her  usual  careless  tone. 

"  I  overheard  them  speaking  together,  my  Lady.  'I'lir 
Chevalier  de  Pean  said  that  the  Intendant  was  sick,  and 
would  see  no  one  this  morning." 

"  Ves,  what  then  ?  "  Angelique  was  struck  with  a  suddin 
consciousness  of  danger  in  the  wind.  "Are  you  sure  llicv 
said  the  Intendant  was  sick  .-"'  asked  she. 

"Yes,  my  Lady!  and  the  Chevalier  de  Pean  said  that  hv 
was  less  sick  than  mad,  and  out  of  humor  to  a  degree  he  had 
never  seen  him  before  !  " 

"  Did  they  give  a  reason  for  it.''  that  is,  for  the  Intendant'> 
sickness  or  madness?"  Angelique's  eyes  were  h.xed  kocnh 
upon  her  maid,  to  draw  out  a  full  confession. 

"  None,  my  Lady,  only  the  Chevalier  des  Meloises  said 
he  supposed  it  was  the  news  from  France  which  sat  so  ill  on 
his  stomach." 

"And  what  then,  Fanchon.-'  you  are  so  long  of  answer- 
ing !  "     Angelique  stamped  her  foot  with  impatience. 

Fanchon  looked  up  at  the  reproof  so  little  merited,  and 
replied  quickly,  "The  Chevalier  de  Pean  said  it  must  lie 
that,  for  he  knew  of  nothing  else.  The  gentlemen  then  went 
out  and  1  heard  no  more." 

Ange'lique  was  relieved  by  this  turn  of  conversation.  She 
felt  certain  that  if  Digot  discovered  the  murder  he  would  not 
fail  to  reveal  it  to  the  Chevalier  de  Pean,  who  was  under- 
stood to  be  the  depository  of  all  his  secrets.  She  began  to 
cheer  up  under  the  belief  that  Digot  would  never  lUire  arcusc 
any  one  of  a  diicd  which  would  be  the  means  of  proclaiming; 
his  own  falseness  and  duplicity  towards  the  King  and  iho 
Marcpiise  de  Pompadour. 

"I  have  only  to  deny  all  knowledge  of  it,"  said  she  to  liei- 


*» 


SILK    (JLOV^KS    ()VI:K     I'.r.OODV     HANDS. 


497 


said  she  to  licr- 


]  >elf,  "  swear  to  it  if  need  be,  and  liigot  will  not  dare  to  <j;o 
artlicr  in  the  matter.  Then  will  come  my  time  to  turn  the 
tables  upon  him  in  a  way  he  little  expects  !  Pshaw  !  "  con- 
tinued she,  glancing  at  her  gay  hat  in  the  mirror,  and  with 
her  own  dainty  fingers  setting  the  feather  more  airily  to  her 
liking.  "  l^igot  is  bound  fast  enough  to  me  now  that  she  is 
wne !  and  when  he  discovers  that  I  hold  his  secret  he  will 
not  dare  meddle  with  mine." 

Angelique,  measurably  reassured  and  hopeful  of  success 
in  her  desperate  venture,  descended  the  steps  of  her  mansion, 
and.  gathering  up  her  robes  daintily,  mounted  her  horse, 
which  had  long  been  chafing  in  the  hands  of  her  groom 
wa'ting  for  his  mistress. 

.She  bade  the  man  remain  at  home  until  her  return,  and 
dashed  off  down  the  Rue  St.  Louis,  drawing  after  her  a 
hundred  eyes  of  admiration  and  envy. 

She  would  ride  down  to  the  Place  d'Armes,  she  thought, 
where  she  knew  that  before  she  had  skirted  the  length  of  the 
Castle  wall  half  a  dozen  gallants  would  greet  her  with  offers 
of  escort,  and  drop  any  business  they  had  in  hand  for  the 
sake  of  a  gallop  by  her  side. 

She  had  scarcely  passed  the  Monastery  of  the  Recollets 
when  she  was  espied  by  the  Sieur  La  Force,  who,  too,  was  as 
quickly  disco\'ered  by  her,  as  he  loitered  at  the  corner  of  the 
Rue  St.  Ann,  to  catch  sight  of  any  fair  piece  of  mischief  that 
might  be  abroad  that  day  from  her  classes  in  the  Convent  of 
the  l^rsulines. 

"  Angt'lique  is  as  fair  a  prize  as  any  of  them,"  thought  La 
Force,  as  he  saluted  her  with  Parisian  politeness,  and  with  a 
reciuest  to  be  her  escort  in  her  ride  through  the  city. 

"My  horse  is  at  hand,  and  1  shall  esteem  it  such  an 
honor,"  said  La  Force,  smiling,  "and  such  a  profit  too," 
added  lie;  "my  credit  is  low  in  a  certain  i|uarter,  you  know 
wile  re  !  "  and  lie  laughingly  ponited  l(n\ards  the  ('on\'ent. 
"1  desire  to  make /'rv  jealous,  for  she  has  made  me  madly 
io,  and  no  one  can  aid  in  an  enter])rise  of  that  kind  better 
than  vourself.  Mademoiselle  des  MeloisesI" 

"Or  more  willingly,  Sieur  La  Force!"  replied  she,  laugh- 
ing.    "  J^ut  you  overrate  my  powers,  I  fear." 

"Oh,  by  no  means,"  replied  La  Force  ;  '•  there  is  not  a  lady 
in  Quebec  but  feels  in  her  heart  that  Angelique  des  Meloises 


498 


THE    GOr.PF.X    noG. 


can  steal  away  her  lover  when  and  where  she  will.  SJic  has 
only  to  look  at  him  across  the  street,  and  presto,  cluin<fe! 
he  is  gone  from  her  as  if  by  magic.  But  will  you  really  help 
me,  Mademoiselle .'' " 

"  Most  willingly,  Sieur  La  Force,- -  for  your  profit  if  not 
for  your  honor!  1  am  just  in  the  humor  for  tormenting 
somebody  this  morning  ;  so  get  your  horse  and  let  us  be  olT  ! '" 

Before  La  Force  had  mounted  his  horse,  a  nunil)Lr  of 
gaily-dressed  young  ladies  came  in  sight,  in  full  sail  down  the 
Rue  St.  Ann,  like  a  fieet  of  rakish  little  yachts,  bearini,^ 
down  upon  iXngc'liciue  and  her  companion. 

"Shall  we  wait  for  them,  La  Force?"  asked  she.  '•riiev 
are  from  the  Convent !  " 

"  Ves,  and  s/ic  is  there  too  !  The  news  will  be  all  over  ihc 
city  in  an  hour  that  I  am  riding  with  you!"  exclaimetl  La 
Force  in  a  tone  of  intense  satisfaction. 

Five  girls  just  verging  on  womanhood,  perfect  in  manner 
and  appearance  —  as  the  Ursulines  knew  well  how  to  train 
the  young  olive-plants  of  the  Colony, —  Xvalked  on  demurely 
enough,  looking  apparently  straight  forward,  but  casting  side 
glances  from  under  their  veils  which  raked  the  Sieur  La 
Force  and  Angt'lique  with  a  searching  fire  that  nothing 
could  withstand.  La  Force  said ;  but  which  Angelique  re- 
marked was  simply  "  impudence,  such  as  could  only  be 
found  in  Convent  girls  !  " 

They  came  nearer.  Ange'lique  might  have  supposed  they 
were  going  to  pass  by  them  had  she  not  known  too  well 
their  sly  ways.  The  foremost  of  the  five,  Louise  Roy. 
whose  glorious  hair  was  the  boast  of  the  city,  suddenly 
threw  back  her  veil,  and  disclosing  a  charming  face,  dimpled 
with  smiles  and  with  a  thousand  mischiefs  lurkiiiL;-  in  her 
bright  gray  eyes,  sprang  towards  Angelique,  while  her  com- 
panions—  all  Louises  of  the  famous  class  of  that  name  — 
also  threv/  up  their  veils,  and  stood  saluting  Angelique  and 
La  Force  with  infinite  merriment. 

Louise  Roy,  quizzing  La  Force  through  a  coquettish  eye- 
glass which  she  wore  on  a  ribbon  round  her  prett\  neck. 
as  if  she  had  never  seen  him  before,  motioned  to  him  in 
a  queenly  way  as  she  raised  her  dainty  foot,  giving  him  a 
severe  look,  or  what  tried  to  be  such  but  was  in  truth  an 
absurd  failure. 


sii,K   ci.ovi'.s  f)vr.R   lii.oonv   hands. 


499 


coquettish  eye- 
er  pretty  neck, 
oned  to  him  in 
t,  givini:!;  him  a 
was  in  tnilh  lui 


He  instantly  comprelifindecl  her  command,  for  such  it  was. 
and  held  out  his  hand,  upon  which  she  stepped  liL,ditly,  and 
sprang  up  to  Angelique,  embracing  and  kissing  her  with 
•,uch  cordiality  that,  if  it  were  not  real,  the  acting  was  perfect. 
At  the  same  time  Louise  Roy  made  her  understand  that  she 
was  not  the  only  o'le  who  could  a\ail  herself  of  the  gallant 
Attentions  of  the  Sieur  La  Force. 

In  truth  Louise  Roy  was  somewhat  piqued  at  the  Sieur 
La  Force,  and  to  punish  him  made  herself  as  heavy  as  her 
slisjht  figure  would  admit  of.  She  stood  perched  up  as  long 
IS  she  could,  and  actually  enjoyed  the  tremor  which  she  felt 
plainly  enough  \\\  his  hand  as  he  continued  to  support  her,  and 
was  fjuite  dispo.sed  to  test  how  long  he  could  or  would  hold 
her  up,  while  she  conversed  in  whispers  with  .Angelique. 

"  AngL'lic|ue  !  "  said  she.  "  They  say  in  the  Conxent  that 
you  are  to  marry  the  Litendant.  Your  old  mistress,  Merc 
Si.  Louis,  is  crazy  with  delight.  She  says  she  always  pre- 
dicted you  v.'ould  make  a  great  match." 

"Or  aone  at  all,  as  Mere  St.  Helene  used  to  say  of  me; 
but  '/ney  know  everything  in  the  Convent,  do  they  not?" 
.\ii^;cli(iue  pinched  the  arm  of  Louise,  as  much  as  to  say, 
•Of  course  it  is  true."  "But  who  told  you  that,  Louise.''" 
asked  she. 

"Oh,  every  bird  that  flies  !  Hut  tell  me  one  thing  more. 
I  They  say  the  Intendant  is  a  Hluebeard,  who  has  had  wives 
wiihoLit  number, —  nobodv  knows  how  manv  or  what  became 
1  of  them,  so  of  course  he  kills  them.      Is  that  true  y 

.Vngelique  shrank  a  little,  and  little  as  it  was  the  move- 
Inient  was  noticed  by  Louise.  "If  nobodv  knows  what 
|!)ccame  of  them,  how  should  I  know,  Louise.'"  replied  she. 
"He  does  not  look  like  a  l)luebeard,  does  he  ?  " 

"  So  says  Mere  St.  Joseph,  who  came  from  the  Convent  at 

I  Bordeaux,  you  know,  for  she  never  tires  telling  us.       She 

declares  that  the  Chevalier  Digot  was  never  married  at  all, 

[ind  she  oui/ht  to  know  that  surelv.  as  well  as  she  knows  her 

beads,  for  coming  from  the  same  city  as  the  Intendant,  — 

|ind  knowing  his  family  as  she  does  -     " 

"Well,  Louise,"  interrupted  Angeliciue  impatiently,  "but 
[do  you  not  see  the  Sieur  I^a  Force  is  getting  tired  of  hold- 
K  yni  up  so  long  with  his  hand  .''  For  heaven's  sake,  get 
I  down !" 


5  no 


THE    (iOl.DI.X     1)(M; 


■i    ' 


"  f  wiint  to  punish  him  for  going  with  you,  and  not  wait- 
ing for  me,"  was  the  cool  whisper  of  Louise.  "  15ul  you  will 
ask  me,  AngcHque,  to  the  wedding,  will  you  not?  If  vou 
do  not,"  continued  she,  "  I  shall  die  !  "  and  delaying  her 
descent  as  long  as  possible,  she  commenced  a  new  topic 
concerning  the  hat  worn  by  Angelicpie. 

''Mischief  that  you  are,  get  down  I  The  Sieur  La  lorce 
is  my  cavalier  for  the  day,  and  you  shall  not  inij^ose  (jn  his 
gallantry  that  way  !  He  is  ready  to  drop,"  whispered  An- 
gel icjue. 

"  One  word  more,  Ange'licpie."  Louise  was  delighted  to  fed 
the  hand  of  La  l"'orce  tremble  more  and  more  under  her  loot. 

"  No,  not  a  word  !     (let  down  !  " 

"  Kiss  me  then,  and  good-by,  cross  tiling  that  you  are  : 
Do  n(jt  keep  him  all  day,  or  all  tiie  class  besides  myself  will 
be  jealous,"  replied  TiOuise,  not  offering  to  get  down. 

Angelique  had  no  mind  to  allow  her  cavalier  to  be  made 
a  horse-block  of  for  anybody  but  herself.  She  jerked  the 
bridle,  and  making  her  horse  suddenly  pirouette,  conipellt.'d 
Louise  to  jump  down.  'I'he  mischievous  little  fairy  turned 
her  bright  laughing  eyes  full  upon  La  Force  and  thanked 
him  for  his  great  courtesy,  and  with  a  significant  gesture 
as  much  as  to  say  lie  was' at  liberty  now  to  escort  .Xngelicnie. 
having  done  penance  for  the  same  rejoined  her  expectant 
companions,  who  had  laughed  heartily  at  her  nian(euvre. 

"  She  paints !  "  was  Louise's  emphatic  whisper  to  her 
companions,  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  La  Force,  for 
whom  the  remark  was  partly  intended.  •'  She  paints  !  and  I 
saw  in  her  eyes  that  she  has  not  slept  all  night  !  She  is  in 
love  !  and  I  do  believe  it  is  true  she  is  to  marry  the  In- 
tendant  !  " 

This  was  delicious  news    to    the    class    of    Louises,  who] 
laughed  out  like  a  chime  of  silver  bells  as  they  mischiev- 
ously Vjade  La  Force  and  Angc'Iique  hon  7'oyai::;i\  and  passed 
down  the  Place  d'Armes  in  search  of  fresh  adventures  to  till 
their  budgets  of  fun  —  budgets  which,  on  their  return  to  the  I 
Convent,  they  would  open  under  the  very  noses  of  the  cjoodj 
nuns  (who  were  not  so  blind  as  they  seemed,  however),  and! 
regale  all  their  companions  with  a  spicy  treat,  in  responscj 
to  the  universal  question  ever  put  to  all  who  had  been  outj 
in  the  city,  "  What  is  the  news  ?  " 


SILK    (JLOVKS    OVKR    I'.I.OODV    HANDS. 


501 


\ 


La  P'orce,  compliant  as  wax  to  every  caprice  of  Ange- 
liquc,  was  secretly  fuiiiinij;  at  tlie  trick  played  upon  him  by 
the  Mischief  of  the  Convent,  as  he  called  Louise  Roy,  — 
for  which  he  resolved  to  be  revenged,  even  if  he  had  to 
marry  her.  He  and  Angelique  rode  down  the  busy  streets, 
receiving  salutations  on  every  hand.  In  the  great  s(|uare 
(if  the  market-place  Angelique  pulled  up  in  front  of  the 
Cathedral. 

Why  she  stopped  there  would  have  puzzled  herself  to 
explain.  It  was  not  to  worship,  not  to  repent  of  her  heinous 
sin  :  she  neither  repented  nor  desired  to  repent.  lUit  it 
seemed  pleasant  to  play  at  repentance  and  put  on  imag- 
inary sackcloth. 

Ange'Iique's  brief  contact  with  the  fresh,  sunny  nature  of 
Louise  Roy  had  sensibly  raised  her  spirits.  It  lifted  the 
cloud  from  her  brow,  and  made  her  feel  more  like  her 
former  self.  The  story,  told  half  in  jest  by  Louise,  that  she 
was  to  marry  the  Intendant,  flattered  her  vanity  and  raised 
her  hopes  to  the  utmost.  She  liked  the  city  to  talk  of  her 
in  C(jnnection  with  the  Intendant. 

The  image  of  Deaumanoir  grew  fainter  and  fainter  as  she 
knelt  down  upon  the  floor,  not  to  ask  pardcm  for  her  sin,  but 
to  pray  for  immunity  for  herself  and  the  speedy  realization 
of  the  great  object  of  her  ambition  and  lier  crime  ! 

The  pealing  of  the  organ,  rising  and  falling  in  waves  of 
harmony,  the  chanting  of  choristers,  and  the  voice  of  the 
cekbrant  during  the  service  in  honor  of  St.  Michael  and  all 
ihe  angels,  touched  her  sensuous  nature,  but  failed  to  touch 
her  conscience. 

A  crowd  of  worshijjpers  were  kneeling  upon  the  floor  of 
ihe  Cathedral,  unobstructed  in  those  days  by  seats  and  pews, 
except  on  one  side,  where  rose  the  ^  .ately  /'t^z/rs'  of  the  Cov- 
emor  and  the  Intendant,  on  either  side  of  which  stood  a 
sentry  with  ported  arms,  and  overhead  upon  the  wall  blazed 
the  iuyal  escutcheons  of  France. 

Angeliciue,  whose  eyes  roved  incessantly  about  the  church, 
turned  them  often  towaids  the  gorgeous  /v?//r  of  the  Intend- 
ant, and  tiie  thought  intruded  itself  to  the  exclusion  of  her 
prayers,  "When  shall  I  sit  there,  with  all  these  proud  ladies 
forgetting  their  devotions  through  envy  of  my  good  fortune  ?  " 

bigot  (Hd  not  appear  in  his  place  at  church  to-day.      He 


502 


TMK    COLDKN    HOG. 


was  too  profoundly  agitated  and  sick,  and  lay  on  his  brd  til] 
evening:;,  revoivinji;  in  iiis  astute  mind  schemes  oi  ven^^eancc 
possible  and  impossil)Ie,  to  be  carried  out  should  his  suspi- 
cions of  Anj;eli(iue  become  certainties  of  kno\\ied_<;e  and  tatl. 
Hiscnvn  safety  was  at  slake.  The  thought  that  he  had  beiii 
outwitted  by  the  beautiful,  desij^ning,  heartless  girl,  the  rellcc- 
tion  that  he  dare  not  turn  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left  to 
inquire  into  this  horrid  assassination,  which,  if  discovered, 
would  be  laid  wholly  to  his  own  charge,  drove  him  to  the 
verge  of  distraction. 

The  Governor  and  his  friend  Peter  Kalm  occupied  the 
royal  />(i//r.  Lutheran  as  he  was,  Peter  Kalm  was  too  j:)hilf)- 
sophical  and  perhaps  too  faithful  a  follower  of  Christ  to  coii 
sider  religion  as  a  matter  of  mere  opinion  or  of  form  rather 
than  of  humble  dependence  upon  Ood,  the  Father  of  all. 
with  faith  in  (Christ  and  the  conscientious  strixing  to  lovi^ 
God  and  his  neighbor. 

A  short  distance  from  Angelique,  two  ladies  in  long  black 
robes,  and  evidently  of  rank,  were  kneeling  with  do\vnc;ist 
faces,  and  hands  clasped  over  their  bosoms,  in  a  dexout  alti- 
tude of  prayer  and  supplication. 

Angel itpie's  keen  eye,  which  nothing  escaped,  needed  not 
a  second  glance  to  recognize  the  unmistakable  grace  of  Ann.' 
lie  de  Repentigny  and  the  nobility  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly. 

She  started  at  sight  of  these  relatives  of  Le  (iardeur's.  hut 
did  not  wonder  at  their  presence,  for  she  already  knew  that 
they  had  returned  to  the  city  immediately  after  the  abduction 
of  Le  (Jardeur  by  the  Chevalier  de  Pean. 

Startled,  frightened,  and  despairing,  with  aching  hearts  Init 
unimpaired  love,  Amelie  and  the  Lady  de  Tilly  had  followcc! 
Le  Gardeur  and  reoccupied  their  stately  house  in  thr  ( it\. 
resolved  to  leave  no  means  untried,  no  friends  unsolit  IuhI. 
no  prayers  unuttered  to  rescue  liim  from  the  gulf  of  perdi- 
tion into  which  he  had  again  so  madly  plunged. 

Within  an  hour  after  her  return,  Amelie,  accomjianied  by 
Pierre  Philibert,  had  gone  to  the  Palace  to  seek  an  intcr\  lew 
with  her  brother.  They  were  rudely  denied.  "  He  was  play- 
ing a  game  of  piquet  for  the  championship  of  the  Palace  with 
the  C-hevalier  de  Pean,  and  could  not  come  if  St.  I'eter,  let 
alone  Pierre  Philibert,  stood  at  the  gate  knocking  !  " 

This  reply  had  passed  through  the  impure  lips  of  the  Sieiir 


SILK    CiLOVES    OVER    DLOODV    IIAXDS. 


503 


xl,  needed  m 


ips  of  tlie  Sieiir 


de  Lantagnac  before  it  reached  Ame'lie  and  Pierre.  They 
did  not  helicse  it  came  from  their  i^rother.  'I'hey  lefl  the 
Palace  witli  heavy  hearts,  after  long  and  vainly  seeking  an 
interview,  Philibert  resolving  to  apjieai  to  the  Intendant 
himself  and  call  him  to  account  at  the  sword's  point,  if  need 
be,  for  the  evident  plot  in  the  Palace  to  detain  Le  Gardeur 
from  his  friends. 

Amelie,  dreading  some  such  resolution  on  the  part  of 
Pierre,  went  back  next  tlay  alone  to  the  Palace  to  try  once 
more  to  see  Le  (jardeur. 

She  was  agitated  and  in  tears  at  the  fate  of  her  brother. 
She  was  anxious  over  the  evident  danger  which  Pierre 
".eemed  to  court,  for  his  sake  and  she  would  not  hide  the 
truth  from  herself  -  for  her  own  sake  too  ;  and  yet  she  would 
not  forbid  him.  She  felt  her  own  noble  blood  stirred  within 
her  to  the  point  that  she  wished  herself  a  man  to  be  able  to 
walk  sword  in  hand  into  the  l^ilace  and  confront  the  herd  of 
revellers  who  she  believed  had  i)lotted  the  ruin  of  her  brother. 

She  was  proud  of  Pierre,  while  she  trembled  at  the  resolu- 
lion  which  she  read  in  his  countenance  of  demanding  as  a 
>()ldier,  and  not  as  a  suppliant,  the  restoration  of  Le  Gardeur 
to  his  family, 

Amelie's  second  visit  to  the  Palace  had  been  as  fruitless  as 
her  hrst.  She  was  denied  admittance,  with  the  profoundest 
regrets  on  the  part  of  De  Pean,  who  met  her  at  the  door  and 
strove  to  exculpate  himself  from  the  accusation  of  having 
persuaded  Le  Gardeur  to  depart  from  Tilly,  and  of  keeping 
hiir.  in  the  Palace  against  the  prayers  of  his  friends. 

De  Pean  remembered  his  presumption  as  well  as  his  re- 
jection by  Amelie  at  Tilly,  and  while  his  tongue  ran  smooth 
IS  oil  in  polite  regrets  that  Le  Gardeur  had  resolved  not  to 
see  his  sister  to-day,  her  evident  distress  filled  him  with  joy, 
which  he  rolled  under  his  tongue  as  the  most  delicate  morsel 
|)f  revenge  he  had  ever  tasted. 

IJowing  with  well-afTected  politeness,  De  Pean  attended  her 
to  her  carriage,  and  having  seen  her  depart  in  tears,  returned 
huighing  into  the  Palace,  renuirking,  as  he  mimicked  the 
weeping  countenance  of  Amelie,  that  "the  Ifoinicfcs  <■/,■;/.<■  had 
learned  it  was  a  serious  matter  to  come  to  the  burial  of  the 
virtues  of  a  young  gentleman  like  Le  Gardeur  de  Rcpentigny." 

On  her  return  home  Amelie  threw  herself  on  the  neck  of 


504 


THE  GOLDEN  DOG. 


her  aunt,  repeating  in  broken  accents,  "  My  poor  Le  Gardeur ! 
my  brother!  He  refuses  to  see  me,  aunt!  He  is  lost  and 
ruined  in  that  den  of  all  iniquity  and  falsehood  !  " 

"Be  composed,  Amelie,"  replied  the   Lady  de  Tilly;  "I 
know  it  is  hard  to  bear,  but  perhaps  Le  Gardeur  did  not 
send  that  message  to  yon.     The  men  about  him  are  capable 
of  deceiving  you  to  an  extent  you  have  no  conception  of. 
you  who  know  so  little  of  the  world's  baseness." 

"O  aunt,  it  is  true!  He  sent  me  this  dreadful  thinj; ;  I 
took  it,  for  it  bears  the  handwriting  of  niy  brother." 

She  held  in  her  hand  a  card,  one  of  a  pack.  It  was  the 
death-card  of  superstitious  lookers  into  futurity.  Had  he 
selected  it  because  it  bore  that  reputation,  or  was  it  by 
chance  ? 

On  the  back  of  it  he  had  written,  or  scrawled  in  a  trem- 
bling hand,  yet  plainly,  the  words  :  "  Return  home,  Amelie. 
I  will  not  see  you.  I  have  lost  the  game  of  life  and  won 
the  card  you  see.  Return  home,  dear  sister,  and  foi'get  your 
unworthy  and  ruined  brother,  Le  Gardeur." 

Lady  de  'I'illy  took  the  card,  and  read  and  re-read  it, 
trying  to  find  a  meaning  it  did  not  contain,  and  trying  not 
to  find  the  sad  meaning  it  did  contain. 

She  comforted  Amt'lie  as  l)est  she  could,  while  needing; 
strength  herself  to  bear  the  bitter  cross  laid  upon  them 
both,  in  the  sudden  blighting  of  that  noble  life  of  which 
they  had  been  so  proud. 

She  took  Amelie  in  her  arms,  mingling  her  own  tears  with 
hers,  and  bidding  her  not  despair.  "  A  sister's  love,'"  said 
she,  "never  forgets,  never  wearies,  never  despairs."  They 
hail  friends  too  jjowcrful  to  be  withstood,  even  by  JJigot.  and 
the  Intendant  would  Ix;  compelled  to  loosen  his  hold  ui)on 
Le  Gardeur.  She  would  rely  upon  the  inherent  nobleness 
'  of  the  nature  of  Le  Gardeur  himself  to  wash  itself  pure  ot 
all  .stain.  C(  uld  they  only  withdraw  him  from  the  seductions 
of  the  Palace.  "We  will  win  him  from  them  by  counter 
charms,  Ame'lie,  and  it  will  be  seen  that  virtue  is  stronjjjcr 
than  vice  to  conquer  at  last  the  heart  of  Le  Gardeur." 

"Alas,  aunt!"  replied  the  poor  girl,  her  eyes  sulVuscd 
with  tears,  "  neither  friend  nor  foe  will  avail  to  turn  hiiri 
from  the  way  he  ha:,  resolved  to  go.  He  is  desperate,  and 
rushes  with  cpen  eyes  upon  his  ruin.     We  know  the  reason 


SILK    GLOVES    OVER    BLOODY    HANDS. 


505 


of  it  all.  There  is  but  one  who  could  have  saved  Le  Gardeur 
if  she  would.  She  is  utterly  unworthy  of  my  brother,  but  I 
feel  now  it  were  better  Le  Gardeur  had  married  even  her 
than  that  he  should  be  utterly  lost  to  himself  and  us  all.  1 
will  see  Angelique  des  Meloises  myself.  It  was  her  sum- 
mons brought  him  back  to  the  city.  She  alone  can  with- 
draw him  from  the  vile  companionship  of  Jiigot  and  his 
associates  at  the   Palace." 

Angt'lique  had  been  duly  informed  of  the  return  of  Ame'lie 
to  the  city,  and  of  her  fruitless  visits  to  the  Palace  to  set  her 
brother. 

It  was  no  pleasure,  but  a  source  of  angry  disappointment 
to  Angt'lique  that  Le  (lardeur.  in  despair  of  making  her  his 
wife,  refused  to  devote  himself  to  her  as  her  lover.  He  was 
running  wild  to  destruction,  instead  of  letting  her  win  the 
husband  she  aspired  to,  and  retain  at  the  same  time  the  gal- 
ia'it  she  loved  and  was  not  willing  to  forego. 

She  Iiad  seen  him  at  the  first  sober  moment  after  his 
return  from  Tilly,  in  obedience  to  her  summons.  She  had 
permitted  him  to  pour  out  again  his  passion  at  her  feet. 
She  had  yielded  to  his  kisses  when  he  claimed  her  heart 
.ind  hand,  and  had  not  refused  to  own  the  mutual  flame 
that  covered  her  cheek  with  a  blush  at  iier  own  falseness. 
Hut  driven  to  the  wall  by  his  i?npetuosity,  she  had  at  last 
kilit'd  his  reviving  hopes  by  her  repetition  of  the  fatal  words, 
"1  love  you.  Le  Gardeur,  l3ut  I  will  not  marry  you!" 

Angt'lique  was  seized  with  a  sudden  impulse  to  withdraw 
from  the  presence  of  Amelie  in  the  Gathedral  before  being 
discovered  by  her.  She  was  half  afraid  that  her  former 
school  companion  would  speak  to  her  on  the  subject  of 
Le  (lardeur.  She  could  not  bra/en  it  out  with  Amelie,  who 
knew  her  too  well,  and  if  she  could,  she  would  gladly  avoid 
the  angry  Hash  of  those  dark,  pure  eyes. 

The  organ  was  pealing  the  last  notes  of  the  Doxology, 
and  the  voices  of  the  choristers  seemed  to  reecho  from  the 
depths  of  eternity  the  words,  " ///  scecula  sicculoruiu^^  when 
Angelique  rose  up  suddenly  to  leave  the  church. 

Her  irreverent  haste  caused  those  about  her  to  turn  their 
heads  at  the  slight  confusion  she  made,  Amelie  among  the 
rest,  who  recognized  at  once  the  countenance  of  Angeliclue, 
iioniewhat  flushed   and  irritated,  as  she  strove  vainly,  with 


5o6 


THE  GOLDEN  DOG. 


the  help  of  La  Force,  to  <;et  out  of  the  throng  of  kneclint^ 
people  who  covered  the  broad  floor  of  the  CJathedral. 

Amelie  deemed  it  a  fortunate  chance  to  meet  Ani^dlicjue 
so  opportunely  —  just  when  her  desire  to  do  so  was  stronj;est. 
She  cau(:;ht  her  eye,  and  made  her  a  quick  sign  to  stav.  and 
approaching  her,  seized  her  hands  in  her  old,  affectionate 
way. 

"  Wait  a  few  moments,  Angelique,"  said  she,  "  until  the 
people  depart.  I  want  to  speak  to  you  alone.  I  am  so 
fortunate  to  find  you  here." 

"  1  will  see  you  outside,  Amelie.  The  Sieur  La  I'orce  is 
with  me,  and  cannot  stay."  Angelique  dreaded  an  inter- 
view with  Amelie. 

*'  No,  I  will  s]:)Lak  to  you  here.  It  will  be  better  here  in 
God's  temple  than  elsewhere.  The  Sieur  La  Force  will  wait 
for  you  if  you  ask  him;  or  shall  I  ask  him  ?"  A  faint  smile 
accompanied  these  words  of  Ame'lie,  which  she  partly  ad- 
dressed to  La  Force. 

La  Fonc,  to  Angelique's  rhagrin,  understanding  that 
Amelie  desired  him  to  wait  foi  Angelique  outside,  at  once 
offered  to  do  so. 

"Or  perhaps,"  continued  Amelie,  offering  her  hand,  "the 
Sieur  La  Force,  whom  1  am  glad  to  see,  will  have  the  polite 
ness  to  accompany  the  Lady  de  Tilly,  while  I  speak  U) 
Mademoiselle  des  Meloises  ?  " 

La  I'orce  was  all  compliance.  "  He  was  quite  at  the 
service  of  the  ladies,"  he  said  politely,  "  and  would  esteem 
it  an  honor  to  accompany  the  noble  Lady  de  Tilly." 

'I'he  Lady  de  Tilly  at  once  saw  through  the  design  of 
her  niece.  She  acceded  to  the  arrangement,  and  left  the 
( 'athedral  in  company  with  the  Sieur  La  l'"orce,  whom  she 
knew  as  the  son  of  an  old  and  valued  friend. 

He  accomi)anied  her  home,  while  Amelie,  holding  fast 
to  the  arm  of  Angelique  until  the  church  was  empty  ut 
all  but  a  few  scattered  devotees  and  penitents,  led  her  int.i 
a  side  chapel,  se[)arated  from  the  body  of  the  churcli  by  a 
screen  of  carved  work  of  oak,  wherein  stood  a  small  aUar 
and  a  relicpiary  with  a  picture  of  St.   Paul. 

Tile  seclusion  of  this  place  com;». ended  itself  to  tlu'  leel- 
ings  of  Amelie.  She  made  Ange'licpie  kneel  down  i)y  her 
side  before  the  altar.      After  breathing  a  short,  silent  jirayer 


Sir.K    (JLOVES    OVER    BLOODY    HANDS. 


507 


i 
■f 


for  Iielp  and  guidance,  siie  seized  her  companion  by  both 
hands  and  besought  her  '*  in  God's  name  to  tell  her  what 
she  had  done  to  Le  (iardeur,  who  was  ruining  himself, 
both  soul  and  body." 

Angelique,  hardy  as  she  was,  could  ill  bear  the  searching 
gaze  of  those  pure  eyes.  She  quailed  undei  them  for  a 
moment,  afraid  that  the  question  might  have  some  reference 
•;u  ileauinanoir,  but  reassured  by  the  words  of  Amelie,  that 
her  interview  had  relation  to  Le  (lardeur  only,  she  replied  : 
'•I  have  done  nothing  to  make  Le  (i;!  acur  ruin  himself, 
soul  or  body,  Amelie.  Nor  do  I  believe  he  is  doing  so. 
Our  old  convent  notions  are  too  narrow  to  take  out  with  us 
into  the  world.     You  judge  Le  Gardeur  too  rigidly,  Ame'lie." 

'•  Would  that  were  my  fault,  Angelicjue  !  "  replied  she 
earnestly,  "  but  my  heart  tells  me  he  is  lost  unless  those 
who  led  him  astray  remit  him  again  into  the  path  of  virtue 
whence  they  seduced  him." 

Angelique  winced,  for  she  took  the  ahusion  to  herself, 
although  in  the  mind  of  Amelie  it  referred  more  to  the 
[ntcndant.  "  Le  Gardeur  is  no  weakling  to  be  led  astray," 
iL'plied  she,  ''  He  is  a  strong  man,  to  lead  others,  not  to 
he  led,   as  I  know  belter  than  even  his  sister," 

Aiaelie  looked  up  inquiringly,  but  Angelique  did  not 
pursue  the  thought  nor  ex])lain  the  meaning  of  her  words. 

"  Le  Gardeur,"  continued  iVngeli(|ue,  "is  not  worse,  nay, 
with  all  his  faults,  is  far  better  than  most  young  gallants,  who 
have  the  laudable  ambition  to  make  a  figure  in  the  world, 
such  as  women  admire.  One  cannot  hope  t(j  lind  men  saints, 
and  we  women  to  be  such  sinners.  Saints  would  be  dull 
lomp.mions,      1   prefer  mere  men,   Amelie  !  " 

"  h'or  shame,  Angeli(|ue !  to  say  such  things  before  the 
vurcd  shrine,"  exclaimed  Amelie.  indignantl}'  st(»|)ping  her. 
"What  wondei'  that  men  art.;  wicked,  when  women  tempt 
iliriii  to  be  so  !  I^e  Gardeui'  was  like  none  of  the  gallants 
\(ni  compare  him  with!  He  loved  \irtut.'  aiul  hated  vice, 
.uul  above  all  things  he  cK'spised  the  companionship  of 
Mich  men  as  now  detain  him  at  the  I'alace.  \'ou  first  took 
liiui  from  me,  Angeli(|ue!  I  ask  you  now  to  give  him  back 
to  me.  Give  me  back  my  brother,  Angelicpie  des  Aleloises  !  " 
Anu'lie  gras[)ed  Iier  l>)  the  arm  in  the  earnestness  of  her 
appeal. 


5o8 


THE    GULDEN    DOG. 


"  I  took  him  from  you  ? "  exclaimed  Angelique  hotly. 
"  It  is  untrue  !  Forgive  my  saying  so,  Ame'He  !  I  took  him 
no  more  than  did  Heloise  de  Lotbiniere  or  Cecil'.:  'I'ouraii- 
geau  !  Will  you  hear  the  truth  ?  He  fell  in  love  with  me. 
and  I  had  not  the  heart  to  repulse  him, —  nay,  I  could  ikiI. 
for  I  will  confess  to  you,  Ame'lie,  as  I  often  avowed  to  nou 
in  tlie  Convent,  I  loved  Le  Gardeur  the  best  of  all  my  ad- 
mirers !  And  by  this  blessed  shrine,"  continued  she.  layiiiL: 
her  hand  upon  it,  "  I  do  still  !  If  he  be,  as  some  sav  hu 
is,  going  too  fast  for  his  own  good  or  yours  or  mine.  I  re- 
gret it  with  my  whole  heart;  1  regret  it  as  you  do  !  Can.  I 
say  more  ? " 

Angelique  was  sincere  in  this.  Her  words  sounded  hon- 
est, and  she  spoke  with  a  real  warmth  in  her  bosom,  sucli 
as  she  had  not  felt  in  a  long  time. 

Her  words  impressed  Amelie  favorably. 

"  I  think  you  speak  truly,  Angelique,"  replied  she,  "  when 
you  say  you  regret  Le  Gardeur's  relapse  into  the  e\il  wavs 
of  the  Palace.  No  one  that  ever  knew  my  nol)le  brotlici 
could  do  other  than  regret  it.  But  oh,  Angulique.  whv. 
with  all  your  influence  over  him  did  you  not  pre\  cut  ii  ; 
Why  do  you  not  rescue  him  now.-*  A  word  from  you  would 
have  been  of  more  avail  than  the  pleading  of  all  tiie  world 
beside  !  " 

"  Amelie,  you  try  me  hard,"  said  Angelique,  uneasilv. 
conscious  of  the  truth  of  Ame'lie's  words,  "but  I  can  bear 
much  for  the  sake  of  Le  (rardeur!  i'e  assured  that  I  lta\e 
no  power  to  influence  his  conduct  in  the  way  of  amend-  ^ 
ment,  except  upon  impossible  conditions !  I  ha\e  trit d, 
and  my  efforts  have  been  vain  as  your  own  !  " 

"  ( 'onditions  !  "  replied  Amelie,  "  what  conditions  ?  but  I 
need  not  ask  vou  !  He  told  me  in  his  hour  of  agon\-  ot 
yt)ur  inexplicabU.'  dealing  with  him,  and  yet  not  so  inexpli 
cable  now  !  Why  did  you  profess  to  love  my  l)rother,  lead 
ing  him  on  and  on  to  an  offer  of  his  hand,  and  then  cruelly 
reject  him,  adding  one  more  to  the  list  of  your  heartless 
triumphs.''  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  was  too  good  tor 
such  a  fate  from  any  woman.  Angelitiue  !  "  Amclie's  eyes 
swam  in  tears  of  indignation    as  she  said  this. 

"He  was  too  good  for  me!"  said  Angelique,  droppiii.Li; 
her  eyes.     "  I   will  acknowdedge  that,  if  il   will  do  yon  any 


SILK    (.LOVES    OVER    HLOODV    HANDS. 


509 


:? 


clique  hotly. 
I  tOf)k  him 
xil'j  Touraii- 
ove  with  mr. 
,  1  could  iidt, 

owed  to  N'oii 
of  all   my  ad- 

d  she.  layini; 

some  say  he 
or  luine,  I  re- 
i  do  !     Can.  I 

sounded  hon- 
r  bosom,  such 


:d  slie,  "  when 
the  e\il  way> 
noble  brotlici 
igulique.  whv. 
)t  pre\  eiit  it 
3m  you  would 
all  the  world 

que,    uneasil}, 
)ut  I  can  beai 
d  that  I   ha\r 
ay  of    amend 
I    ha\-e  triid, 

ions  ?  hnl  I 
r  of  aij;ony  n! 
lot  so  ini'xpl! 

brother,  lead- 
I  then  eiiu'll} 
,-our  heaitless 

too  fjocxl  tor 
Anielie's  e\e^> 

fjue,  droppinu 
W  tlo  you  any 


good,  Amelie  !  But  can  you  not  belitive  that  there  was  a 
sacrifice  on  my  part,  as  well  as  on  his  or  yours  .^ " 

"  I  judi^e  not  between  you,  Angelique !  or  between  the 
many  chances  wasted  on  you  ;  but  I  say  this,  Angc'lique  des 
Meloises,  you  wickedly  stole  the  heart  of  the  noblest 
l)r(;ther  in  New  France,  to  trample  it  under  your  feet  !  " 

"'Fore  (iod,  I  did  not,  Amt'lie  !  "  she  replied  indignantly. 
"I  loved  and  do  love  Le  Ciardeur  de  Repentigny,  but  I 
never  plighted  my  troth  to  him,  I  never  deceived  him  !  I 
told  him  i  loved  him,  but  I  could  not  marry  him  !  And  by 
this  sacred  cross,"  said  she,  placing  her  hands  upon  it,  "  it 
is  true  I  I  never  trampled  upon  the  heart  of  Le  Gardeur ; 
I  could  kiss  his  hands,  his  feet,  with  true  affection  as  ever 
loving  woman  gave  to  man  ;  but  my  duty,  my  troth,  my  fate, 
were  in  the  hands  of  another  !  " 

Angel ique  felt  a  degree  of  pleasure  in  the  confession  to 
Amelie  of  her  love  for  her  brother.  It  was  the  next  thing 
to  confessing  it  to  himself,  which  had  been  once  the  joy  of 
her  life,  but  it  changed  not  one  jot  her  determination  to  wed 
only  the  Intendant,  unless  -  yes,  her  busy  mind  had  to-day 
called  up  a  thousand  possible  and  impossible  contingencies 
that  might  spring  up  out  of  the  unexpected  use  of  the  sti- 
letto by  Corriveau.  What  if  the  Intendant,  suspecting  her 
lomplicity  in  the  murder  of  Caroline,  should  refuse  to  marry 
her  ?  Were  it  not  well  in  that  desperate  case  to  have  Le 
(rardeur  to  fall  back  upon  .'' 

Ame'lie  watched  nervously  the  changing  countenance  of 
Angelitiue.  She  knew  it  was  a  l)eautiful  mask  covering 
impenetrable  tleceit,  and  that  no  principle  of  right  kept  her 
from  wrong  when  wrong  was  either  pleasant  or  ]:)rofital)le. 

The  conviction  came  upon  Amelie  like  a  Hash  of  inspira- 
don  that  she  was  wrong  in  seeking  to  save  Le  Cjardeur  by 
seconding  his  wild  offer  of  mairiage  to  Ange'licjue.  A  union 
with  this  false  and  capricious  woman  would  only  make  his 
ruin  more  complete  and  his  latter  end  wor.se  than  the  first. 
She  would  not  urge  it,  she  thought. 

"  Angeli([ue,"  said  she,  ''  if  you  love  Le  Gardeur,  you  will 
not  refu.se  your  help  to  rescue  him  from  the  I'alace.  You 
cannot  wish  to  see  him  degraded  as  a  gentleman  becau.se 
he  has  been  rejected  by  you  as  a  lover." 

"  Who  says  1  wish  to  see  iiim  degraded  as  a  gentleman  ? 


5IO 


THE    CiULDEN     lJO(J. 


and  I  did  not  reject  him  as  a  lover!  n(jt  finally  —  that  is,  I 
did  not  wholly  mean  it.  When  I  sent  to  invite  his  njturn 
from  Tilly  it  was  out  of  friendship,  —  love,  if  you  will,  Aint'lic, 
but  from  no  desire  that  he  should  plunge  into  fresh  chssipa- 
tion." 

"  1  believe  y(.)u,  Angt'li([ue  !  Y'ou  could  not,  if  you  had  the 
heart  of  a  woman  loving  him  ever  so  little,  desire  to  si  ■ 
him  fall  into  the  clutches  oi  men  who,  with  the  wine-cuj)  in 
one  hand  and  the  dice-box  in  the  other,  will  never  rest 
until  they  ruin  him,  body,  soul,  and  estate." 

"  Before  (lod,  I  never  desired  it,  and  to  prove  it,  I  iiave 
cur.sed  l)e  I'ean  to  his  face,  and  erased  Lantagnac  from  my 
list  of  friends,  for  coming  to  show  me  the  money  he  had 
won  from  Le  (lardeur  while  intoxicated.  Lantagnac  broii-lu 
me  a  set  of  pearls  which  he  had  purchased  out  of  his  win- 
nings. I  threw  them  into  the  fire  and  would  have  thrown  him 
after  them,  had  1  been  a  man!  'fore  God,  I  would,  Amelic! 
1  may  have  wounded  Le  (iardeur,  but  no  other  man  or 
woman  shall  injure  him  with  my  consent." 

Angeliciue  spoke  this  in  a  tone  of  sincerity  that  touched 
somewhat  the  heart  of  Amelie,  although  the  abenaiioiis 
and  inconsistencies  of  this  strange  girl  perplexed  her  to  iho 
utmost  to  understand  what  she  really  felt. 

"1  think  1  may  trust  you,  Angelique,  to  help  me  to 
rescue  him  from  association  with  the  Palace?"  said  Amelie, 
gently,  almost  submissively,  as  if  she  half  feared  a  refusal. 

"  I  desire  nothing  more,"  replied  Angelique.  "  Vou 
have  little  faith  in  me,  I  see  that," — Ange'lique  wiped  liei 
eyes,  in  which  a  shade  of  p.oisture  could  be  seen,  —  "but 
1  am  sincere  in  my  friendship  for  Le  Gardeur.  The  Virgin 
be  my  witness,  I  never  wished  his  injury,  even  when  I 
injured  him  most.  lie  sought  me  in  niarriage,  and  1  was 
bound  to  another." 

"You  are  to  marry  the  Intendant,  they  say.  I  do  not 
wonder,  and  yet  I  do  wonder,  at  your  refusing  my  brcjther. 
even  for  him." 

"  Marry  the  Intendant !  Yes.  it  is  what  fools  and  sumo 
wise  people  say.      I  never  said  it  myself,  Amelie." 

"Hut  you  mean  it,  nevertheless;  and  for  no  other  would 
you  have  thrown  over  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny." 

"  1  did  not  throw  him  over,"  she  answered,  indignantly. 


SILK    CiLOVES    OVKK     IJI.OODY    HANDS. 


511 


"Hut  why  dispute?  I  cannot,  Anit'lie,  say  more,  even  to 
voii !  I  am  distraught  with  cares  and  anxieties,  and  know 
in)l  which  way  to  turn." 

•'Turn  here,  where  I  turn  in  my  troubles,  Angelique  ! " 
replied  Amelie,  moving  closer  to  the  altar.  "Let  us  pray 
lor  Le  dardeur."  Angelique  obeyed  mechanically,  and  the 
iwu  girls  prayed  silently  for  a  few  moments,  but  how  dif- 
ferently in  spirit  and  feeling !  The  one  prayed  for  her 
brother,  —  the  other  tried  to  pray,  but  it  was  more  for  her- 
self, for  safety  in  her  crime  and  success  in  her  deejvlaid 
scheming.  A  prayer  for  Le  (iardeur  mingled  with  Ange- 
lique's  devotions,  giving  them  a  color  of  virtue.  Her 
desire  for  his  welfare  was  sincere  enough,  and  she  thought 
It  disinterested  of  herself  to  pray  for  him. 

Suddenly  Angelique  started  up  as  if  stung  by  a  wasp. 
"I  must  take  leave  of  you,  my  Amelie,"  said  she;  "1  am 
jjlad  I  met  you  here.  I  trust  you  understand  me  now, 
iiid  will  rely  on  my  being  as  a  sister  to  Le  Gardeur,  to  do 
what  1  can  to  restore  him  perfect  to  you  and  the  good 
Lady  de  Tilly." 

Amelie  was  touched.  She  embraced  Angelicjue  and 
kissed  her ;  yet  so  cold  and  impassive  she  felt  her  to  be  a 
shiver  ran  through  her  as  she  did  so.  It  was  as  if  she 
had  touched  the  dead,  and  she  long  afterwards  thought  of 
it.  Th^re  was  a  mystery  in  this  strange  girl  that  Amelie 
could  not  fathom  nor  guess  the  meaning  of.  They  left  the 
Cathedral  together.  It  was  now  quite  empty,  sa\'e  of  a 
Hiigering  penitent  or  two  kneeling  at  the  shrines.  Ange- 
Hcjue  and  ^Vmelie  parted  at  the  door,  the  one  eastward,  the 
other  westward,  and,  carried  away  by  the  divergent  currents 
of  their  lives,  they  never  met  again. 


Is  and  some 


other  would 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 


THE    INTENDANTS    DILEMMA. 


"  "T^II^  ^  not  know  for  a  certainty  that  she  was  present 

l^P  till  inidnislit  at  the  party  given  by  Madame  dc 
Gi'antiinaison,  I  should  suspect  her,  by  dod!"  exclaiiiu'd 
the  Jntendant,  as  he  paced  up  and  down  his  private  room 
in  the  Palace,  angry  and  perplexed  to  the  uttermost  over 
the  mvsterious  assassination  at  lieaumanoir.     "What  think 


you, 


Cadet  ?  " 


"I  think  that  proves  an  a///'/,^'  replied  Cadet,  stretcliinj; 
himself  lazily  in  an  armchair  and  smoking  with  half-shul 
eyes.  There  was  a  cynical,  mocking  tone  in  liis  voice 
which  seemed  to  imply  that  although  it  proved  an  <?///'/,  it 
did  not  prove  innocence  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  Sieur 
Cadet. 

"  Vou  think  more  than  you  say.  Cadet.  Out  with  it ! 
Let  me  hear  the  worst  of  your  suspicions,  I  fancy  tliev 
chime  with  mine,"  said  the  Intendant,  in  quick  reply. 

"As  the  bells  of  the  Cathedral  with  the  beHs  of  the 
Recollets,"  drawled  out  Cadet.  "  I  think  she  did  it.  Higol. 
and  you  think  the  same;  but  I  should  not  like  to  be 
called  upon  to  pro\e  it,  nor  you  either,  -  not  for  the  sake 
of  the  pretty  witch,  but  for  your  own." 

"I  could  prove  nothing,  Cadet.  She  was  the  gayest 
and  most  light-hearted  of  all  the  company  last  n  ,.,lu  at 
Madame  de  Grandmaison's.  I  have  made  the  most  \x\r- 
ticulpr  inquiries  of  Varin  and  Deschenaux.  They  needed 
no  asking,  but  l^urst  out  at  once  into  praise  and  adnu ration 
of  her  gaiety  and  wit.  It  is  certain  she  was  not  at  IJeaii- 
manoir." 

"  You  often  boasted  you  knew  v.omen  better  than  I.  and 
I  yielded  the  point  in  ''^gard  to  Angc'lique,"  replied  Cadet, 
refilling  hi.s  pipe.  "  I  did  not  profess  to  fathcMn  the  depths 
of  that  girl,  but  I   thought  you  knew  her. 

5'" 


Egad !  siie  has 


THE    INTKNDANT  S    niLr:MMA. 


5^^ 


she  was  present 
by  Madame  dv. 
loci  ! "  exclaiiiK'd 
his  private  room 
e  uttermost  over 
r.     "  What  think 

Cadet,  stretching; 
vj:  with  half-shut 
jne  in  liis  voice 
proved  an  <?///'/,  it 
ion   of   the   Sieur 

t.      Out  with   it! 

s.      1    fancy  they 

uick  reply. 

the   bel's   of    the 

she  did  it.  f)i<2;ot. 

not    like    tf)  ho 

not  for  the  sake 


was 


the 


Kavcst 


ny  last  n  .,ht  at 
le  the  most  par- 
X.  They  needod 
e  and  admiration 
was  not  at   lieau- 

)etter  than  1.  and 
^3,"  replied  '/add. 
ith(>m  the  dejiths 
Egad !  slic  has 


been  too  clever  for  you,  Bigot !  She  has  aimed  to  be  the 
Lady  Intendant,  and  is  in  a  fair  way  to  succeed !  That 
girl  has  the  spirit  of  a  war-horse  ;  she  would  carry  any  man 
rciund  the  world.  1  wish  she  would  carry  me.  I  would  rule 
Versailles  in  six  weeks,  with  that  woman,  J]igot !  " 

"The  same  thought  has  occurred  to  me,  Cadet,  and 
I  might  have  been  entrapped  by  it  had  not  this  cursed 
affair  happened.  La  Pompadour  is  a  simpleton  beside 
Ani^clique  des  Meloises  1  My  difficulty  is  to  believe  her 
so  mad  as  to  have  ventured  on  this  bold  deed.'' 

'•  'Tis  not  the  boldness,  only  the  uselessness  of  it,  would 
stop  Ange'lique ! "  answered  Cadet,  shutting  one  eye  with  an 
air  of  lazy  comfort. 

"l)Ut  the  deceitfulness  of  it.  Cadet!  A  girl  like  her 
could  not  be  so  gay  last  night  with  such  a  bloody  purpose 
on  her  soul.     Could  she,  think  you?" 

"Couldn't  she?  Tut!  Deceit  is  every  woman's  nature! 
Her  wardrobe  is  not  complete  unless  it  contains  as  many 
lies  for  her  occasions  as  ribbons  for  her  adornment !  " 

"Vou  believe  she  did  it  then?  What  makes  you  think 
so,  Cadet  ? "  asked  Bigot  eagerly,  drawing  near  his  com- 
panion. 

"Why,  she  and  you  are  the  only  persons  on  earth  who 
had  an  interest  in  that  girl's  death.  She  to  get  a  dangerous 
I  rival  out  of  the  way,  —  you  to  hide  her  from  the  search- 
warrants  sent  out  by  La  Pompadour.  You  did  not  do  it, 
I  know  :  t^X'^  ^^^^  flicl !  Can  any  logic  be  plainer  ?  That  is 
I  tile  reason  I  think  so.  Bigot." 

"  lUit  how  has  it  been  accomplished.  Cadet  ?  Have  you 
[any  theory?     S/k'  can  not  have  done  it  with  her  own  hand." 

"Whv,  there  is  only  one  wav  that   I   can  see.     We  know 

she  did  not  do  the  murder  herself,  therefore  she  has  done  it 

I  by  the  hand  of  another.      Here  is  proof  of  a  confederate, 

Iligot, —  I  picked  this  up  in  the  secret  chamber."     Cadet 

[drew  out  of  his  pocket  the  fragment  of  the  letter  torn   in 

pieces  by  La  Corriveau.     "Is  this  the  handwriting  of  Angc"- 

liique?"  asked  he. 

Bigot  seized  the  scrap  of  pajier,  read  it.  turned  it  over 
hnd  scrutinized  it,  striving  to  find  resemblances  between  the 
hmting  and  that  of  every  one  known  to  him.  His  scrutiny 
has  in  vain. 


514 


THK    GOLDEN    DOG. 


■I    i 
I' 


"This  writing  is  not  Ange'lique's,"  said  he.  "It  is  uiuilv 
unknown  to  me.  It  is  a  woman's  hand,  but  certainly  not 
the  hand  of  any  woman  of  my  acquaintance,  and  I  have 
letters  and  billets  from  almost  every  lady  in  Quebec.  It  is 
proof  of  a  confederate,  however,  for  listen,  Cadet!  It 
arranges  for  an  interview  with  Caroline,  poor  girl  !  It  was 
thus  she  was  betrayed  to  her  death.  It  is  torn,  but  cnouuii 
remains  to  make  the  sense  clear,  —  listen:  'At  the  arched 
door  about  midnight  —  if  she  pleased  to  admit  her  she  wc.-nkl 
learn  important  matters  concerning  herself--  the  Inlendaii; 
and  the  IJaron  de  St.  Castin  —  speedily  arrive  in  the  Colonv.' 
That  throws  light  upon  the  mystery,  Cadet!  \  woman  was 
to  have  an  interview  with  Caroline  at  midnight!  Cood  Cod, 
Cadet  1  not  two  hours  before  we  arrived  !  And  we  deferred 
starting  in  order  that  we  might  rook  the  Signeur  de  Port 
Neuf  !  Too  late  !  too  late  !  Oh  cursed  word  that  ever  seals 
our  fate  when  we  propose  a  good  deed !  "  and  Digot  felt 
himself  a  man  injured  and  neglected  by  Providence. 

"'Important  matters  relating  to  herself,'  "  repeated  IJigot, 
reading  again  the  scrap  of  writing.  " '  The  Inlendant  and 
the  Baron  de  St.  Castin  —  speedily  to  arrive  in  the  Colony.' 
No  one  knew  but  the  sworn  Councillors  of  the  (io\ernor 
that  the  Baron  de  St.  Castin  was  coming  out  to  the  Colony. 
A  woman  has  done  the  deed,  and  she  has  been  informed  of 
secrets  spoken  in  Council  by  some  Councillor  present  on  that 
day  at  the  Castle.  Who  was  he  .''  and  who  was  she  .'  "  cjues- 
tioned  Bigot,  excitedly. 

"  The  argument  runs  like  water  down  hill.  Bigot !  but,  par 
Dicu  !  I  would  not  have  believed  that  New  France  contained 
two  women  of  such  mettle  as  the  one  to  contrive,  die  other 
to  execute,  a  masterpiece  of  devilment  like  that !  " 

"  Since  we  find  another  hand  in  the  dish,  it  may  not  have 
been  Angelique  after  all,"  remarked  Bigot.  "It  is  hard  to 
believe  one  so  fair  and  free-spoken  guilty  of  so  dark  aiul 
damnable  a  crime."  liigot  would  evidently  be  glad  to  linil 
himself  in  error  touching  his  suspicions. 

"  Fairest  without  is  often  foulest  within,  Bigot,"  answered 
Cadet,  doggedly.  "  Open  speech  in  a  woman  is  often  an 
open  trap  to  catch  fools!  Ange'lique  des  Meloises  is  free- 
spoken  and  open-handed  enough  to  deceive  a  concla\e  (»■ 
cardinals;  but  she  has  the  lightest  heels  in  the  city.    Would 


TIIK    INTKNDAN  I   S     DILKMMA. 


3»5 


you  not  like  to  see  her  dance  a  hallct  de  trioviphc  on  the 
broad  flagstone  1  hiid  over  the  grave  of  that  poor  girl  ?  If 
vou  would,  you  have  only  to  marry  her,  and  she  will  give  a 
ball  in  the  secret  chamber  !  " 

"  Ik  still,  Cadet!  I  could  take  you  by  the  throat  for  sug- 
Ijesting  it !  But  I  will  make  her  prove  herself  innocent !  " 
exclaimed  Bigot,  angry  at  the  cool  persistence  of  Cadet. 

•*  I  hope  you  will  not  try  it  to-day,  IJigot."  Cadet  spoke 
t;i;ively  now.  "  Let  the  dead  sleep,  and  let  all  sleeping  dogs 
,111(1  bitches  lie  still.  Zounds  !  we  are  in  greater  danger  than 
she  is !  you  cannot  stir  in  this  matter  without  putting  your- 
self in  her  power.  Angelique  has  got  hold  of  the  secret  of 
Caroline  and  of  the  Baron  de  St.  Castin  ;  what  if  she  clear 
herself  by  accusing  you  ?  The  King  would  put  you  in  the 
Bastile  for  the  magnificent  lie  you  told  the  Governor,  and  La 
Pompadour  would  send  you  to  the  Place  de  Grcve  when  the 
Baron  de  St.  Castin  returned  with  the  bones  of  his  daughter, 
dug  up  in  your  Chateau!" 

*'  It  is  a  cursed  dilemma ! "  Bigot  fairly  writhed  with 
perplexity.  "  Dark  as  the  bottomless  pit,  turn  which  way 
we  will.  Ange'lique  knows  too  much,  that  is  clear;  it  were 
a  charity,  if  it  were  a  safe  thing,  to  kill  her  too,  Cadet !  " 

"  Not  to  be  thought  of.  Bigot ;  she  is  too  much  in  every 
man's  eye,  and  cannot  be  stowed  away  in  a  secret  corner  like 
her  poor  victim.  A  dead  silence  on  every  point  of  this 
[cursed  business  is  our  only  policy,  our  only  safety."  Cadet 
had  plenty  of  common  sense  in  the  rough,  and  Bigot  was 
.ible  to  appreciate  it. 

The  Intendant  strode  up  and  down  the  room,  clenching 

his  hands  in  a  fury.     "  If  I  were  sure  !  sure  !  she  did  it,  I 

I  would  kill  her,  by  (iod  !  such  a  damnable  cruel  deed  as  this 

would  justify  any  measure  of  vengeance!"  exclaimed    he, 

savagely. 

"  Pshaw !  not  when  it  would  all  rebound  upon  yourself. 
Besides,  if  you  want  vengeance,  take  a  man's  revenge  upon 
la  woman;  you  can  do  that!     It  will  be  better  than  killing 
|!ier,  much  more  pleasant,  and  ([uite  as  effectual," 

liigot  looked  as  Cadet  said  this  and  laughed  :  "  Vou  would 
hend  her  to  the  J\u-c  aux  ccrfs^  eh,  Cadet.-*  Par  Dicu!  she 
I  would  sit  on  the  throne  in  six  months  !  " 

"Xo,  I  do  not  mean  the  Pare  anx  a-r/s,  but  the  Chateau  of 


5i6 


THE    GOLDEN    HOG. 


IJeauiiKiiiDir.      lUit  you  are  in   too  ill   humor  to  joke  to-(la\. 
Bigot."     Cadet  resumed  his  pipe  with  an  air  of  nonchalaiue. 

"  I  never  was  in  a  worse  humor  in  my  life.  Cadet !  1  ted 
that  I  have  a  padlock  upon  every  one  of  my  five  senses:  and 
1  cannot  move  hand  or  foot  in  this  business." 

"  Right,  nigot,  do  not  move  hand  or  foot,  eye  or  lon^iu', 
in  it.  1  tell  you  the  slightest  whis|)er  of  Caroline's  lilr  di 
death  in  your  house,  reaching  the  ears  of  i'hilihert  or  I, a 
Corne  St.  Luc,  will  bring  them  to  Heaumanoir  with  wair.iiu^ 
to  search  for  her.  They  will  pick  the  Chateau  to  pieces 
stone  by  stone.  They  will  drag  Caroline  out  of  her  grave. 
and  the  whole  country  will  swear  you  murdered  her,  and 
that  I  helped  you,  and  with  appearances  so  strong  again>i 
us  that  the  mothers  who  bore  us  would  not  believe  in  our 
innocence!  Damn  the  women!  'I'he  burying  of  that  ij;irl 
was  the  best  deed  I  did  for  one  of  the  sex  in  my  life,  l)ui  it 
will  be  the  worst  if  you  breath  one  word  of  it  to  Angel i(|uc 
des  Meloises,  or  to  any  other  person  living.  1  am  not  ready 
to  lose  my  head  yet,  l>igot,  for  the  sake  of  any  woman,  or 
even  for  you !  " 

The  Intendant  was  staggered  by  the  vehemence  of  Cadet. 
and  impressed  by  the  force  of  his  remarks.  It  was  hard  to 
sit  down  quietly  and  condone  such  a  crime,  but  he  saw 
clearly  the  danger  of  pushing  inquiry  in  any  direction 
without  turning  suspicion  upon  himself.  He  boiled  with 
indignation.  He  fumed  and  swore  worse  than  his  wont 
when  angry,  but  Cadet  lo(Aed  on  quietly,  smoking  his  piix'. 
waiting  for  the  storm  to  calm  down. 

"  You  were  never  in  a  woman's  clutches  so  tight  before. 
Bigot,"  continued  Cadet.     "  If  you  let  La   l^ompadour  siiv 
pect  one   hair  of   your  head  in  this  matter,  she  will  spin  aj 
cart-rope  out  of  it  that  will  drag  you  to  the  Place  de  (jrevc."| 

"Reason  tells  me  that  what  you  say  is  true.  Cadet."  re- 1 
plied  Higot,  gloomily. 

"  To  be  sure  ;  but  is  not  Angelique  a  clever  witch  tn 
bind  Kran(;ois  liigot  neck  and  heels  in  that  way,  aflci 
fairly  outwitting  and  running  him  down  .'*  " 

Cadet's  cool   comments  drove    I'igot  beside  himself.     "  1 
will  not  stand  it;  by  St.  Maur !    she  shall   pay  for  all  lhis!| 
I,  who  have  caught  women  all   my  life,  to  be  caught  by  one 
thus  !  she  shall  pay  for  it !  " 


TIIK    INTKN'DANT  S    DILEMMA. 


517 


••  Well,  make  her  pay  for  it  by  marrying  her !  "  replied 
Cadet.  "■  J'ar  Dieu  !  I  am  mistaken  if  you  have  not  got 
to  marry  her  in  the  end !  I  would  marry  her  myself,  if 
vou  do  not,  (jnly  I  should  be  afraid  to  sleep  nights!  I 
nii,i,dit  be  ))ut  under  the  lloor  before  morning  if  she  liked 
another  man  better  ! "' 

Cadet  gave  way  to  a  feeling  of  hilarity  at  this  idea, 
>haking  his  sides  so  long  and  heartily  that  bigot  caught 
ihc  infection,  and  joined  in  with  a  burst  of  sardonic  laugh- 
ter. 

bigot's  laughter  was  soon  over.  He  sat  down  at  the 
table  again,  and,  being  now  calm,  considered  the  whole 
matter  o\er,  point  by  point,  with  Cadet,  who,  though  coarse 
and  unprincipled,  was  a  shrewd  counsellor  in  difficulties. 

It  was  determined  between  the  two  men  that  nothing 
whatever  should  be  said  of  the  assassination.  Bigot  should 
continue  his  gallantries  to  Angelicjue,  and  avoid  all  show 
of  suspicion  in  that  quarter.  He  should  tell  her  of  the 
disai)pearance  of  Caroline,  who  had  gone  away  mysteri- 
ously as  she  came,  but  profess  absolute  ignorance  as  to 
lier  fate. 

Ange'lique  would  be  equally  cautious  in  alluding  to  the 
murder;  she  would  pretend  to  accept  all  his  statements  as 
absolute  fact.  Her  tongue,  if  not  her  thoughts,  would  be 
H'aled  up  in  perpetual  silence  on  that  bloody  topic.  Bigot 
niii>t  feed  her  with  hopes  of  marriage,  and  if  necessary  set 
a  day  for  it,  far  enough  off  to  cover  all  the  time  to  be  taken 
up  in  the  search  after  Caroline. 

"  1  will  never  marry  her,  Cadet ! "  exclaimed  Bigot,  "  but 
'vill  make  her  regret  all  her  life  she  did  not  marry  me !  " 

"Take  care,  Bigot!  It  is  dangerous  playing  with  fire. 
Vou  don't  half  know  Angelique." 

"I  mean  she  shall  [-nil  the  chestnuts  out  of  the  fire  for 
me  with  her  pretty  fingers,  until  she  burn  them,"  remarked 
Hi,;^<)t,  gruffiy. 

"  I  would  not  trust  her  too  far  !  In  all  seriousness,  you 
bvt:  but  the  choice  of  two  things,  Bigot :  marry  her  or  send 
her  to  th'^  Convent." 

"  1  would  not  do  the  one,  and   I  could  not  do  the  other, 
Cadet,"  was  Bigot's  prompt  reply  to  this  suggestion. 
'Tut:    Mere    Migeon    de   la   Nativite   will    respect    your 


5i8 


THE    (iOLDKN    DOG. 


kttrc  lie  cachet^   and   provide   a  close,    comfortable    cell    for 
this  pretty  penitent  in  the  Lhsulines,"  said  Cadet. 

"  Not  she  !  Mere  Migeon  gave  me  one  of  her  jxirlor- 
lectures  once,  and  1  care  not  for  another.  Kgad,  C'ack'l  I 
she  made  me  the  nearest  of  being  ashamed  of  Franrois 
Bigot  of  any  one  1  ever  listened  to  !  Could  you  have  seen 
her.  with  her  veil  thrown  back,  her  pale  face  still  paler  wiih 
indignation,  her  black  eyes  looking  still  blacker  beneath  ihe 
white  iillet  upon  her  forehead,  and  then  her  tongue.  Cadet! 
Well,  I  withdrew  my  proposal  and  felt  myself  rather  cheai> 
ened  in  the  presence  of  Mere  Migeon." 

"  Ay,  I  hear  she  is  a  clipper  when  she  gets  a  sinner  by 
the  hair!  What  w;is  tl-e  proposal  you  made  to  her,  IJigul?" 
asked  Cadet,  smiling  as  if  he  knew. 

"Oh,  it  was  not  worth  a  livre  to  make  such  a  row  about  I 
I  only  proposed  to  send  a  truant  damsel  to  the  Convent  lu 
repent  of  my  faults,  that  was  all  !  Hut  I  could  never  dis- 
pose of  Angeliqiie  in  that  way,"  continued  the  Intendant, 
with  a  shrug. 

"  Kg-d  !  she  will  fool  any  man  faster  than  he  can  make 
a  fool  of  her  !  IJut  I  would  try  Mere  Migeon,  notwith- 
standing," replied  ('adet.  "  vShc  is  the  only  one  to  bre.ik  in 
this  wild  filly  and  nail  her  tongue  fast  to  her  prayers  !  " 

"  It  is  useless  trying.  They  know  Angelique  too  well. 
She  would  turn  the  C^onvent  out  of  the  windows  in  the  time  of 
a  fir/nuri/ic.     They  are  all  really  afraid  of  her,"  replied  ilinol. 

"Then  you  must  marry  her,  or  do  worse,  Higot.  1  seo 
nothing  else  for  it,"  was  (  adet's  reply. 

"  Well,  I  will  do  worse,  if  worse  can  be ;  for  marry  her  I 
will  not!"  said   i)igot,  stamping  his  foot  upon  the  floor. 

"  It  is  understood,  then,  l>igot,  not  a  word,  a  hint.  ;i 
look  is  to  be  given  to  vVnge'lique  regarding  your  suspicions 
of  her  complicity  in  this  murthn"  ?  " 

"  Ves,  it  is  understood.  The  secret  is  like  the  devils 
tontine,       he  catches  the  last  possessor  of  it." 

"  1  expect  to  be  the  last,  then,  if  I  keep  in  your  company. 
Ihgot,"  ri'inarkt'd  Cadet. 

(!adet  ha\ing  st-ttled  this  pi)int  to  his  mind,  reclined  l».uk 
in  his  eas)' chair  and  smoked  on  in  silence,  while  the  Inienl 
ant  kept  walking  tlu'  lioor  an.\iously,  because  he  saw  faithci 
than  his  companion  the  shadows  of  coming  events. 


—  torn 

Still, 
that  sic 
two  m( 
who  kn< 
longer 
woman, 
secret 

'■Oi 
Intenc 
friend. 
inissioi^ 
will   no 
New  J' 
my  owi 
inanoir 
was. 
her  urn 


THE    INTENDANTS    DILEMMA. 


519 


able    cell    for 
et. 

)f  her   jxirlor- 

I'.gad,  (";uk-l : 

of    FraiK  ()is 

oil  have  seen 

till  paler  with 

er  beneath  the 

ongue,  Cadet  I 

rather  cheai> 

s  a  sinner  hy 

0  her,  Higot?" 

1  a  row  al)()ul ! 
he  Convent  tu 
luld  never  dis- 
the   Intendant, 

1  he  can  make 
pgeon,  notwith- 
>ne  to  break  in 
|)rayers  !  " 
litjue  too  well. 
,s  in  the  time  of 
"  replied  lliuol. 

1  'st:.' 


liigot. 


or  marry  hv.y  1 
11  the  lloor. 
/ord,   a   hint.  ;i 
your  .susi)ici()ns 

like   the  devil's 

your  company. 

1,  reclined  h.uk 
hile  the  Intenl 
:  he  saw  Mitlicr 
vents. 


Sometimes  he  stopped  impatiently  at  the  window,  beating 
a  tattoo  with  his  nails  on  the  polished  casement  as  he  grazed 
out  upon  the  beautiful  parterres  of  autunmal  flowers,  begin- 
ning to  shed  their  petals  around  the  gardens  of  the  Palace. 
He  looked  at  them  without  seeing  them.  All  that  caught 
his  eye  was  a  bare  rose-bush,  from  which  he  remembered  he 
had  plucked  some  white  roses  which  he  had  sent  to  Car- 
oline to  adorn  her  oratory  ;  and  he  thought  of  her  face, 
more  pale  and  delicate  than  any  rose  of  Provence  that  ever 
bloomed.  His  thoughts  ran  violently  in  two  parallel  streams 
side  by  side,  neither  of  them  disappearing  for  a  moment 
amid  the  crowd  of  other  affairs  that  pressed  upon  his 
aitontion,  —  the  murder  of  Caroline  and  the  perquisition 
thai  was  to  be  made  for  her  in  all  quarters  of  the  Colony. 
His  own  safety  was  too  deeply  involved  in  any  discovery 
that  might  be  made  respecting  her  to  allow  him  to  drop  the 
subject  out  of  his  thought  for  a  moment. 

by  imposing  absolute  silence  upon  himself  in  the  presence 
of  .\ngeli(iue,  touching  the  death  of  Caroline,  he  might  im- 
pose a  like  silence  upon  her  whom  he  could  not  acquit  of 
the  suspicion  of  having  prompted  the  murder.  But  the  cer- 
tainty that  there  was  a  confederate  in  the  deed  —  a  woman, 
too,  judging  by  the  fragiiient  of  writing  picked  up  by  Cadet 
—  tormented  him  with  endless  conjectures. 

.Still,  he  felt,  for  the  present,  secure  from  any  discovery  on 
that  side ;  but  how  to  escape  from  the  sharp  inciuisition  of 
two  men  like  La  Corne  St.  Taic  and  Pierre  Philibert  ?  yXnd 
who  knew  how  far  the  secret  of  Peaumanoir  was  a  secret  anv 
longer.''  It  was  known  to  two  women,  at  any  rate;  and  no 
woman,  in  P)igot's  estimation  t)f  the  sex,  would  long  keep  a 
secret  which  concerned  another  and  not  her.self. 

"Our  greatest  danger.  Cadet,  lies  there!"  continued  the 
Intendant,  stopping  in  his  walk  and  turning  suddenly  to  his 
friend.  "  La  Corne  St.  Luc  antl  Pierre  Philibert  are  com- 
missioned l)y  the  Ciovernor  to  search  for  that  girl.  'I'iiey 
will  not  leave  a  stone  unturned,  a  corner  unrii.isacked  in 
New  J'"rance.  Tliey  will  find  out  thiough  the  llurons  and 
my  own  servants  that  a  woman  has  been  concealed  in  lleau- 
maiioir.  They  v/ill  suspect,  if  they  do  not  disc(ner  who  she 
\\a>.  They  wii'  not  lind  her  on  eaith.  they  will  look  'or 
her  under  the  earth.     And,  by  St.  Maur  1  it  makes  me  quake 


520 


THK    GOLDEN    DOG. 


to  think  of  it,  Cadet,  for  the  discovery  will  be  utter  ruin  ! 
Th^y  may  at  last  dig  up  her  murdered  remains  in  my  (n\n 
Chateau !  As  you  said,  the  Baslile  and  the  Place  de  (Ircve 
would  be  my  portion,  and  ruin  yours  and  that  of  all  our 
associates." 

Cadet  held  up  his  pipe  as  if  appealing  to  Heaven.  '•  It 
is  a  cursed  reward  for  our  charitable  night's  work.  lii^ol." 
said  he.  "  Better  you  had  never  lied  about  the  girl.  W'c 
could  have  brazened  it  out  or  fought  it  out  with  the  liiiron 
de  St.  Castin  or  any  man  in  France  !  I'hat  lie  will  con\  ict 
us  if  found  out !  " 

"  Pshaw  !  the  lie  was  a  necessity,"  answered  Pigot,  \m\rc\- 
tiently."  Ikit  who  could  have  dreamed  of  its  leading  us  such 
a  dance  as  it  has  done!  /V/-  Dicu  !  1  have  not  often  lied 
except  to  women,  and  such  lies  do  not  count !  Put  I  had 
lietter  have  stuck  to  truth  in  this  matter,  Cadet.  I  acknowl- 
edge that  now." 

"  Especially  with  La  Pompadour  !  She  is  a  woman.  It  is 
dangerous  to  lie  to  her,  —  at  least  about  other  women." 

"Well,  Cadet,  it  is  useless  blessing  the  Pope  or  banning 
the  Devil !  We  are  in  for  it,  and  we  must  meet  La  Corne  St, 
Luc  and  Pierre  Philibert  as  warily  as  we  can.  I  have  been 
thinking  of  making  safe  ground  for  us  to  stand  upon,  as  the 
trappers  do  on  the  great  prairies,  by  kindling  a  tire  in  front 
to  escape  from  the  fire  in  the  rear  !  " 

''  What  is  that,  IJigot  ?  I  could  fire  the  C'hateau  rather 
than  be  tracked  out  by  La  Corne  and  Philibert,"  said  Cadet. 
sitting  upright  in  his  chair. 

"  What,  l3urn  the  Chateau!"  answered  Bigot.  "  Vou  are 
mad.  Cadet!  No;  but  it  were  well  to  kindle  such  a  smoke 
about  the  eyes  of  La  Corne  and  Philibert  that  they  will  need 
to  rub  them  to  ease  their  own  pain  instead  of  looking  lor 
poor  Caroline." 

*'  How,  P)igot .-  Will  you  challenge  and  fight  them  ?  That 
will  not  avert  suspicion,  but  increase  it,"  rei.uirked  Cadet. 

"Well,  you  will  see!  i\  man  will  need  as  many  eye.s  as 
Argus  to  di.scover  our  hands  in  this  business." 

Cadet  started,  without  conjecturing  what  the  Intendant 
contemplatetl.  "  Vou  will  kill  the  bird  that  tells  tales  on  us. 
Bigot,  —  is  that  it  .^  "  added  he. 

"  1  mean  to  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone,  Cadet !     Hark 


THE    INTENDANT  S    DILEMMA. 


521 


you;  I  will  tell  you  a  scheme  that  will  put  a  stop  to  these 
perquisitions  by  La  Corne  and  Philibert  —  the  only  two  men 
I  fear  in  the  Colony  —  and  at  the  same  time  deliver  me  from 
the  everlasting  bark  and  bite  of  the  Golden  Dog  !  " 

bigot  led  Cadet  to  the  window,  and  poured  in  his  ear  the 
binning  passions  which  were  fermenting  in  his  own  breast. 
He  propounded  a  scheme  of  deliverance  for  himself  and  of 
crafty  vengeance  upon  the  Philiberts  which  would  turn  the 
thoughts  of  every  one  away  from  the  Chateau  of  Beaumanoir 
and  the  missing  Caroline  into  a  new  stream  of  public  and 
private  troubles,  amid  the  confusion  of  which  he  would  es- 
cape, and  his  present  dangers  be  overlooked  and  forgotten 
in  a  great  catastrophe  that  might  upset  the  Colony,  but  at 
any  rate  it  would  free  Bigot  from  his  embarrassments  and 
perhaps  inaugurate  a  new  reign  of  public  plunder  and  the 
suppression  of  the  whole  party  of  the  Honnetes  Gens. 


of  lookin*^  for 


Cadet!     Hark 


CHAPTER   XLV. 


"I    WILL    FEED    FAT    THE    ANCIENT    GRUDGE    I    BEAR    HTM." 


THE  Treaty  of  Aix  La  Chapelle,  so  long  tossed  about 
on  the  waves  of  war,  was  finally  s'"'ned  in  the  begin- 
ning of  October.  A  swift-sailing  ^oelcttc  g:  Dieppe  brought 
the  tidings  to  New  France,  and  in  the  early  nights  of  Novem- 
ber, from  Quebec  to  Montreal.  Bonfires  on  every  headland 
blazed  over  the  broad  river ;  churches  were  decorated  with 
evergreens,  and  Tc  Dennis  sung  in  gratitude  for  the  return  of 
peace  and  security  to  the  Colony. 

New  France  came  out  of  the  struggle  scathed  and  scorched 
as  by  fire,  but  unshorn  of  territory  or  territorial  rights ;  and 
the  glad  colonists  forgot  and  forgave  the  terrible  sacrifices 
they  had  made  in  the  universal  joy  that  their  country,  their 
religion,  language,  and  laws  were  still  safe  under  the  Crown 
of  Trance,  with  the  white  banner  still  floating  over  the  Castle 
of  St.  Louis. 

On  the  day  after  the  arrival  of  the  Dieppe  goclcttc  bring- 
ing the  news  of  peace,  IJigot  sat  before  his  desk  reading  his 
despatches  and  letters  from  F'rance,  when  the  Chevalier  do 
Pean  entered  the  room  with  a  bundle  of  papers  in  his  hand, 
brought  to  the  Palace  by  the  chief  clerk  of  the  llourgeois 
Philibert.  for  the  Intendant's  signature. 

The  liourgeois,  in  the  course  of  his  great  commercial  deal- 
ings, got  possession  of  innumerable  orders  upon  the  royal 
treasury,  which  in  due  course  had  to  be  presented  to  the 
Intendant  for  his  official  signature.  The  signing  of  these 
treasury  orders  in  favor  of  the  Bourgeois  never  failed  to 
throw  Pigot  into  a  fit  of  ill  humor. 

On  the  ])resent  occasion  he  sat  down  muttering  ten  thou- 
sand curses  ujion  the  Bourgeois,  as  he  glanced  over  the  pa- 
pers with  knitted  eyebrows  and  teeth  set  hard  together,  lie 
signed  the  mass  of  orders  and  drafts  made  payable  to  Nico- 
las   IMiilibert,    and  when  done,  threw  into  the  fire  the  pen 

522 


"THE    ANCIENT    GRUDGE    I    BEAR    HIM. 


523 


BEAR    HIM. 


and  scorched 


which  had  performed  so  unwelcome  an  office.  Bigot  sent 
for  the  chief  clerk  who  had  brought  the  bills  and  orders, 
and  who  waited  for  them  in  the  antechamber.  "Tell  your 
master,  the  Bourgeois,''  said  he,  "that  for  this  time,  and  only 
to  prevent  loss  to  the  foolish  officers,  the  Intendant  has  signed 
these  army  bills ;  but  that  if  he  purchase  more,  in  defiance 
of  the  sole  right  of  the  Grand  Company,  I  shall  not  sign 
them.     This  shall  be  the  last  time,  tell  him  !  " 

The  chief  clerk,  a  sturdy,  gray-haired  Afcr/oiii/i,  was  noth- 
ing daunted  by  the  angry  look  of  the  Intendant.  "  I  shall 
inform  the  Bourgeois  of  your  PLxcellency's  wishes,"  said  he, 
"and--" 

"  Inform  him  of  my  commands  ! "  exclaimed  Bigot, 
sharply.  "  What  !  have  you  more  to  say .''  But  you  would 
not  be  the  chief  clerk  of  the  Bourgeois  without  possessing  a 
irood  stock  of  his  insolence !  " 

"  Pardon  me,  your  Excellency  !  "  replied  the  chief  clerk, 
'•  1  was  only  going  to  observe  that  His  Excellency  the  Gov- 
ernor and  the  Commander  of  the  Eorces  both  have  decided 
that  the  officers  may  transfer  their  warrants  to  whomsoever 
they  will." 

"  You  are  a  bold  fellow,  with  your  Breton  speech  ;  but  by 
all  the  saints  in  Saintonge,  I  will  see  whether  the  Royal 
Intendant  or  the  Bourgeois  Philibert  shall  control  this  mat- 
ter !     And  as  for  you  —  " 

"  Tut !  cd-'e  canan  !  let  this  cur  go  back  to  his  master," 
interrupted  Cadet,  amused  at  the  coolness  of  the  chief  clerk. 
"Hark  you,  fellow!"  said  he,  "present  my  comi)liments — • 
the  Sieur  Cadet's  compliments  —  to  your  master,  and  tell 
liim  I  hope  he  will  bring  his  next  batch  of  army  bills  him- 
self, and  remind  him  that  it  is  soft  falling  at  low  tide  out  of 
the  windows  of  the  I'"riponne." 

"  I  shall  certainly  advise  my  master  not  to  come  himself, 
Sieur  Cadet,"  replied  the  chief  clerk;  "and  I  am  very  cer- 
tain of  returning  in  three  days  with  more  army  bills  for  the 
signature  of  his  Excellency  the  Intendant." 

"Get  out,  you  fool!"  shouted  Cadet,  laughing  at  what 
he  regarded  the  insolence  of  the  clerk.  "  V'ju  are  worthy 
of  your  master  !  "  And  Cadet  pushed  him  forcibly  out  of 
the  door,  and  shut  it  after  him  with  a  bang  that  resounded 
through  the  Palace. 


524 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


"  Don't  be  angiy  at  him,  P>igot,  he  is  not  worth  it,"  said 
Cadet.  "  '  Like  master  like  man,'  as  the  proverb  says. 
And,  after  all,  I  doubt  whether  the  furred  law-cats  of  the 
Parliament  of  Paris  would  not  uphold  the  Bourgeois  in  an 
appeal  to  them  from  the  Golden  Dog." 

IJigot  was  excessively  irritated,  for  he  was  lawyer  enough 
to  know  that  Cadet's  fear  was  well  founded.  He  walked 
up  and  down  his  cabinet,  venting  curses  upon  the  heads  of 
the  whole  party  of  the  Honnctcs  Gens,  the  Governor  and 
Commander  of  the  T'orces  included.  The  Marquise  de 
Pompadour,  too,  came  in  for  a  full  share  of  his  maledictions, 
for  Bigot  knew  that  she  had  forced  die  signing  of  the  treaty 
of  Aix  la  Chapelle,  —  influenced  less  by  the  exhaustion  of 
P'rance  than  by  a  feminine  dislike  to  camp  life,  which  she 
had  shared  with  the  King,  and  a  resolution  to  withdraw  him 
back  to  the  gaieties  of  the  capital,  where  he  would  l)e 
wholly  under  her  own  eye  and  iniiuence. 

"  She  prefers  love  to  honor,  as  all  women  do  !  "  remarked 
Bigot ;  "  and  likes  money  better  than  either."  The  Grand 
Company  pays  the  fiddler  for  the  royal  fetes  at  Versailles, 
wdiile  the  Bourgeois  Philibert  skims  the  cream  off  the  trade 
of  the  Colony.  This  peace  will  increase  his  power  and 
make  his  influence  double  what  it  is  already  1  " 

"  Egad,  J^igot ! "  replied  Cadet,  who  sat  near  him  smoking 
a  large  pipe  of  tobacco,  "you  speak  like  a  preacher  in 
Lent.  We  have  hitherto  buttered  our  bread  on  both  sides. 
but  the  Company  will  soon,  I  fear,  have  no  bread  to  butter  1 
I  doubt  we  shall  have  to  eat  your  decrees,  which  will  be  the 
only  things  left  in  the  possession  of  the  Friponne." 

*'  My  decrees  have  been  hard  to  digest  for  some  people 
who  think  they  will  now  eat  us.  Look  at  that  pile  of  orders, 
Cadet,  in  favor  of  the  Golden  Dog  !  " 

The  Intendant  had  long  regarded  with  indignation  the 
ever  increasing  trade  and  influence  of  the  Bourgeois  PhiH- 
bert,  who  had  become  the  great  banker  as  well  as  the  great 
merchant  of  the  C'olony,  able  to  meet  the  (irand  Company 
itself  upon  its  own  ground,  and  fairly  divide  with  it  the  inte- 
rior as  well  as  the  exterior  commerce  of  the  Colony. 

"Where  is  this  thing  going  to  end.?"  exclaimed  bigot, 
sweeping  from  him  the  pile  of  bills  of  exchange  that  lay 
upon  the  table.     "That  I'hilibert  is  gaining  ground  upon  us 


"THE    ANCIENT    GKUI3(JE    I     BEAK    HIM. 


525 


nh  it,"  said 

overb    says. 

cats  of  the 

rgeois  in  an 

AVer  enou^^h 
He    walked 

lie  heads  ot 
overnor  and 

larquise  de 
naledictions. 
of  the  treaty 
xhaustion  of 
2,  which  she 

ithdraw  him 
e    would    be 

!  "  remarked 

The  (hand 

Lt  Versailles, 

3 IT  the  trade 

power  and 


every  day !  He  is  now  buying  up  army  bills,  and  even  the 
King's  officers  are  Hocking  to  him  with  their  certificates  of 
pay  and  drafts  on  France,  wliich  he  cashes  at  half  the 
discount  cliarged  by  the  Company  I  " 

•'('live  the  cursed  papers  to  the  clerk  and  send  him  off, 
i)e  I'ean  !  "  said  IJigot, 

|)e  l*ean  ol)eyed  with  a  grimace,  and  returned. 

"  This  thing  must  be  stopped,  and  shall  !  "  continued  the 
Intendant,  savagely. 

"That  is  true,  your  I^.vccHency,"  said  De  Pean.  "And 
we  have  tried  vigorously  to  .stop  the  evil,  but  so  far  in  vain. 
The  G(n'ernor  and  the  ILuuietcs  Gcns,  and  too  many  of  the 
)Hicers  themselves,  countenance  his  opposition  to  the  Com- 
[)any.  The  Jlourgeois  draws  a  good  bill  upon  Paris  and 
iiordeaux,  and  they  are  fast  finding  it  out." 

"The  Ciolden  Dog  is  drawing  half  the  money  of  the 
Colony  into  his  coffers,  and  he  will  blow  up  the  credit  of  the 
Friponne  some  fine  day  when  we  least  expect  it,  unless  he 
be  chained  up,"  replied  Bigot. 

"  *  A  nicilianf  chicn  coitrt  licu^^  says  the  proverb,  and  so  say 
1,"  replied  Cadet.  "  The  Golden  Dog  has  barked  at  us  for 
a  long  time ;  par  Dicu  !  he  bites  now  !  —  ere  long  he  will 
f;;naw  our  bones  in  reality,  as  he  does  in  efiigy  upon  that 
cursed  tablet  in  the  Rue  Buade." 

''  Every  dog  has  his  day,  and  the  Golden  Dog  has  nearly 
had  his.  Cadet.      lUit  what  do  you  advise  .'  "  asked  l^^igot. 

"  Hang  him  up  with  a  short  rope  and  a  shorter  shrift, 
Iligot !  You  have  warrant  enough  if  your  Court  friends  are 
worth  half  a  handful  of  chaff." 

"  Ikit  they  are  not  worth  half  a  handful  of  chaff.  Cadet. 
If  I  hung  the  Pourgeois  there  would  be  such  a  cry  raised 
among  the  Ifoniu'tcs  (ri'/is  in  the  Colony,  and  the  whole  tribe 
of  Jansenists  in  France,  that  1  doubt  whether  e\en  the 
power  of  the  Marquise  could  sustain  me." 

Cadet  looked  c[uietly  truculent.  He  drew  JJigot  aside. 
"There  are  more  ways  than  one  to  choke  a  dog,  r)igot," 
said  he.  "  You  may  put  a  tight  collar  outside  his  throat,  or 
a  sweetened  mil  inside  of  it.  Some  course  must  be  found, 
and  that  promptly.  We  shall,  before  many  days,  have  La 
C'trne  St.  Taic  and  young  Philibert  like  a  couple  of  stag- 
hounds  in  full  cry  at  our  heels  about  that  business  at  the 


526 


THE  GOLDEN  DOG. 


Chateau.     They  must  be  thrown  off  that  scent,  come  what 
will,  Bigot  !  " 

The  pressure  of  time  and  circumstance  was  diawinji;  a 
narrower  circle  around  the  Intendant.  The  advent  of  jieace 
would,  he  believed,  inaugurate  a  personal  war  against  him- 
self. The  mu'der  of  Caroline  was  a  hard  blow,  and  tli' 
nec( '^sity  of  joi  cealing  it  irritated  hiui  with  a  sense  of  fear 
M^r  M-n  tt.'  ':io  rl.  vracter. 

Hi-:  vusj'i./ion  of  Angelique  tonnenled  him  day  and  niglit. 
He  hau.  ''.ntti  Angelique  in  a  sensual,  admiring  way,  williout 
one  grain  of  re  :  -espect.  He  worshipped  her  one  momcni 
as  the  Aphrodite  of  his  fancy ;  he  was  ready  to  strip  and 
scourge  her  the  next  as  the  possible  murderess  of  Caroline. 
l)Ut  IJigot  had  fettered  himself  with  a  lie,  and  had  to  hide 
his  thoughts  under  degrading  concealments.  He  knew  the 
Marcpuse  de  Pompadour  was  jealously  watching  him  from 
afar.  The  sharpest  intellects  and  most  untiring  men  in  the 
Colony  were  commissioned  to  find  out  the  truth  regartlinL; 
the  fate  of  Caroline.  liigot  was  like  a  stag  brought  to  bav. 
An  ordinary  man  would  have  succumbed  in  despair,  but  the 
very  desperation  of  his  position  stirred  up  the  Intendant  lu 
a  greater  effort  to  free  himself. 

He  walked  gloomily  up  and  down  the  room,  absorbed  in 
deep  thought.  Cadet,  who  guessed  what  was  brooding  in 
his  mind,  made  a  sign  to  De  Pean  to  wait  and  see  what 
would  be  the  result  of  his  cogitations. 

Bigot,  gesticulating  with  his  right  hand  and  his  left,  wcni 
on  balancing,  as  in  a  pair  of  scales,  the  chances  of  success 
or  failure  in  the  blow  he  nietlitated  against  the  Colden  Doy. 
A  blow  which  would  soatler  to  the  winds  the  inquisition  set 
on  foot  to  discover  the  hiding-place  of  Caroline. 

He  stopped  suddenly  in  his  walk,  striking  both  hands 
together,  as  if  in  sign  of  some  resolution  arrived  at  in  his 
thoughts. 

"  1  )e  Pean  !  "  said  he,  "  has  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny 
shown  any  desire  yet  to  break  out  of  the  Palace  .'' " 

"None,  your  Excellency.  He  is  fixed  as  a  bridge  to 
fortune.  Vou  can  no  more  break  him  down  than  the  /'v// 
M'u/  at  Paris.  He  lost,  last  night,  a  thousand  at  cards  and 
five  hundred  at  dice  ;  then  drank  himself  dead  drunk  until 
three  o'clock  this  afternoon.     He  has  just  risen  ;  his  \  alei 


"THE    ANCIENT    GRUDGE    I    BEAK    IllM. 


5^7 


It,  come  what 


sense  of  feat- 


was  washing  Jiis  bead  and  feet  in  l.^rp.ndy  when  I  came 
here." 

•'You  are  a  friend  that  sti 'ks  closer  than  a  brother,  I)e 
Pean.  L.e  Gardeur  believeo  in  you  as  his  guardian  angel, 
dots  he  not  ?  "  asked  I'igot  with  a  sneer. 

"When  he  is  drunk  he  does,"  replied  De  Pean  ;  "  when  he 
is  .lobcr  1  care  not  to  approach  him  too  nearly  !  He  is  a 
wild  colt  that  will  kick  his  groom  when  rubbed  the  wrong 
way ;  and  every  way  is  wrong  when  the  wine  is  out  oi  him." 

"Keep  him  full  then!"  exclaimed  J^igot ;  "you  have 
gloomed  him  well,  l)e  Pean!  but  he  must  now  be  saddled 
and  ridden  to  hunt  down  the  biggest  stag  in  New  Fv.mr"  '  " 

De  Pean  looked  hard  at  the  Intendant,  only  half  con;  e- 
hending  his  allusion. 

"  Vou  once  tried  your  hand  with  Mademoiselle  /^  i.'cpen- 
tigny,  did  you  not  ?  "  continued  Bigot. 

"  1  did,  your  Excellency;  but  that  bunch  of  graces  was  too 
high  for  me.     They  are  very  sour  now." 

"  Sly  fox  that  you  were !  Well,  do  not  call  them  sour  yet, 
De  Pean,  Another  jump  at  the  vine  and  you  may  reach 
that  bunch  of  perfection  !  "  said  l^igot,  looking  hard  at  him. 

"  Your  Excellency  overrates  my  ability  in  that  quarter,  and 
if  I  were  permitted  to  choose  —  " 

"  Another  and  a  fairer  maid  would  be  your  choice.  I  see, 
De  Pean,  you  are  a  connoisseur  in  women.  Be  it  as  you 
wish  !  Manage  this  business  of  Philibert  discreetly,  and  I 
will  coin  the  Golden  Dog  into  doubloons  for  a  marriage 
portion  for  Angelique  des  Meloises.  You  understand  me 
now .'' " 

De  Pean  started.  He  hardly  guessed  yet  what  was  re- 
quired of  him,  but  he  cared  not  in  the  dazzling  prospect  of 
such  a  wife  and  fortune  as  were  thus  held  out  to  him, 

"  Your  Excellency  will  really  support  my  suit  with  Ange- 
Hque  .-* "  De  Pean  seemed  to  mistrust  the  possibility  of  such 
a  piece  of  disinterestedness  on  the  part  of  the  Intendant. 

"  I  will  not  only  commend  your  suit,  but  1  will  give  away 
the  bride,  and  Madame  de  Pean  shall  not  miss  any  favor 
from  me  which  she  has  deserved  as  Angelique  des  Meloises," 
was  Bigot's  reply,  without  changing  a  muscle  of  his  face, 

"  And  your  Excellency  will  give  her  to  me  ?  "  De  Pean 
could  hardly  believe  his  ears. 


528 


THK    GOLDICN    DOG. 


I    ! 


"Assuredly  you  shall  have  her  if  you  like,"  cried  liii^ot, 
"  and  with  a  dowry  such  as  has  not  been  seen  in  New 
France  !  " 

"  Ikit  who  would  like  to  have  her  at  any  price  ? "  muttered 
Cadet  to  himself,  with  a  quiet  smile  of  contempt,  —  Cadet 
thought  I)e  Pean  a  fool  for  jumping  at  a  hook  baited  with  a 
woman ;  but  he  knew  what  the  Intendant  was  driving  at,  and 
admired  the  skill  with  which  he  angled  for  De  Pean. 

"  But  Angclique  may  not  consent  to  this  disposal  of  her 
hand,"  replied  I)e  Pean  with  an  uneasy  look;  "I  should  he 
afraid  of  your  gift  unless  she  believed  that  she  took  me,  and 
not  I  her." 

"Hark  you,  I)e  Pean  !  you  do  not  know  what  women  like 
her  are  made  of,  or  you  would  be  at  no  loss  how  to  bait  your 
hook !  You  have  made  four  millions,  they  say,  out  of  this 
war,  if  not  more." 

"  I  never  counted  it,  your  Excellency  ;  but,  much  or  little.  I 
owe  it  all  to  your  friendship,"  replied  De  Pean  with  a  touch 
of  mock  humility. 

"  My  friendship  !  Well,  so  be  it.  It  is  enough  to  make 
Ange'lique  des  Meloises  Madame  de  Pean  when  she  finds  she 
cannot  be  Madame  Intendant.  Do  you  see  your  w^ay  now, 
De  Pean  ? " 

"  Yes,  your  Excellency,  and  I  cannot  be  sufficiently  grate- 
ful for  such  a  proof  of  your  goodness." 

Bigot  laughed  a  dry,  meaning  laugh.  "  I  truly  hope  you 
will  always  think  so  of  my  friendship,  De  Pean.  If  you  do 
not,  you  are  not  the  man  I  take  you  to  be.  Now  for  our 
scheme  of  deliverance  ! 

"  Hearken,  De  Pean,"  continued  the  Intendant,  fixing  his 
dark,  fiery  eyes  upon  his  secretary ;  "  you  have  craft  and 
cunning  to  work  out  this  design  and  good  wdll  to  hasten 
it  on.  Cadet  and  I,  considering  the  necessities  of  the  Grand 
Company,  have  resolved  to  put  an  end  to  the  ri\alry  and 
arrogance  of  the  Golden  Dog.  We  will  treat  the  Bourgeois.' 
Bigot  smiled  meaningly,  "  not  as  a  trader  with  a  baton,  but  as 
a  gentleman  with  a  sword  ;  for,  although  a  merchant,  the 
Bourgeois  is  noble  and  wears  a  sword,  w'hich  under  proper 
provocation  he  will  draw,  and  remember  he  can  use  it  too  ! 
He  can  be  tolerated  no  longer  by  the  gentlemen  of  the 
Company.      They  have  often   pressed  me  in  vain  to  take 


"THE    ANCIENT    GRUDGE    I    BEAR    IIIM. 


529 


this  step,  but  now  I  yield.  Hark,  l)e  Pean  !  The  Bourgeois 
must  be  iusiilted^  i/iii/ZcNj^c'i/,  and  killed  hy  some  gentleman  of 
the  Company  with  courage  and  skill  enough  to  champion 
its  rights,  llut  mind  you  !  it  nuist  be  done  fairly  and  in 
open  day,  and  without  my  knowledge  or  approval !  Do  you 
understand  ? " 

IJigot  winked  at  I)e  I'ean  and  smiled  furtively,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  \'oa  know  how  to  interpret  my  words." 

"  I  understand  your  Kxcellency,  and  it  shall  be  no 
fault  of  mine  if  your  wishes,  which  chime  with  my  own,  be 
not  carried  out  before  many  days.  A  dozen  partners  of  the 
Company  will  be  proud  to  Tight  with  the  IJourgeois  if  he 
will  only  fight  with  them." 

"  No  fear  of  that,  l)e  Pean  !  give  the  devil  his  due.  Insult 
the  Bourgeois  and  he  will  fight  with  the  seven  champions  of 
Christendom  !  so  mind  you  get  a  man  able  for  him,  for  1  tell 
you,  De  Pean,  1  doubt  if  there  be  over  three  gentlemen  in 
the  Colony  who  could  cross  swords  fairly  and  successfully 
with  the  Bourgeois." 

''  It  will  be  easier  to  insult  and  kill  him  in  a  chance 
medley  than  to  risk  a  duel ! "  interrupted  Cadet,  who  lis- 
tened with  intense  eagerness.  "  I  tell  you.  Bigot,  young 
Philibert  will  pink  any  man  of  our  party.  If  there  be  a 
duel  he  will  insist  on  fighting  it  for  his  father.  The  old 
Bourgeois  will  not  be  caught,  but  we  shall  catch  a  Tartar 
instead,  in  the  young  one." 

"  Well,  duel  or  chance  medley  be  it !  I  dare  not  have 
him  assassinated,"  replied  the  Intendant.  "  He  must  be 
fought  with  in  open  day,  and  not  killed  in  a  corner.  Eh, 
Cadet,  am  I  not  right? " 

bigot  looked  for  approval  from  Cadet,  who  saw  that  he 
was  thinking  of  the  secret  chamber  at  IJeaumanoir. 

"  Vou  are  right.  Bigot!  He  must  be  killed  in  open  day 
and  not  in  a  corner.  But  who  have  we  among  us  capable  of 
making  sure  work  of  the  Bourgeois?" 

"  Leave  it  to  me,"  replied  De  i'ean.  "  I  know  one  partner 
of  the  Company  who,  if  I  can  get  him  in  harness,  will  run 
our  chariot  wheels  in  triumph  over  the  Golden  Dog." 

'•  And  who  is  that?  "  asked  Bigot  eagerly. 

"  Le  Cardeur  de  Repentigny  1 "  exclaimed  De  Pean,  with 
a  look  of  exultation. 


530 


TMK    GOLDEN    DOii. 


"  I'shaw !  he  wcnild  draw  ui)on  us  more  readily !  Win, 
he  is  bewitched  with  the  IMiiliberts  !  "'  replied  I)iL;ot. 

"  I  shall  find  means  to  break  the  spell  lon<;  enough  to 
answer  our  purpose,  your  Kxcellency ! "  replied  l)e  I'ean. 
"  Permit  me  only  to  take  my  own  way  with  him." 

"Assuredly,  take  your  own  way,  l)e  I'ean!  A  bloody 
scuflie  between  1  )e  Repenti^ny  and  the  JJour^ijeois  would 
not  only  be  a  victory  for  the  Company,  but  would  break  up 
the  whole  party  of  the  Iloiuictcs  Gais  !"' 

The  Intendant  slapped  l)e  Pean  on  the  shoulder  and 
shook  hiin  by  the  hand.  "  Vou  are  more  clever  than  I 
believed  you  to  be,  l)e  Pean,  Vou  have  hit  on  a  modi- oi 
riddance  which  will  entitle  you  to  the  l)est  reward  in  ilu 
power  of  the  Company  to  bestow." 

"  My  best  reward  will  be  the  fulfilment  of  your  promise. 
your  Excellency,"  answered  I)e  Pean. 

"I  will  keep  my  word,  l)e  Pean.  By  God  you  shall 
have  Angt'lique,  with  such  a  dowry  as  the  Company  can 
alone  give!  Or,  if  you  do  not  want  the  girl,  you  shall  have 
the  dowry  without  the  wife !  " 

"1  shall  claim  both,  your  Kxcellency  I   But — ^" 

"But  what?     Confess  all  your  doubts,  I)e  Pean." 

"Le  Gardeur  may  claim  her  as  his  own  reward!"  De 
Pean  guessed  correctly  enough  the  true  bent  of  Angel ique's 
fancy. 

"  No  fear !  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny,  drunk  or  sober,  is 
a  gentleman.  He  would  reject  the  Princess  d' Elide  were 
she  offered  on  such  conditions  as  you  take  her  on.  He  is 
a  romantic  fool;  he  believes  in  woman's  virtue  and  all  that 
stuff'" 

"  Besides,  if  he  kill  the  IJourgeois,  he  will  have  to  fight 
Pierre  Philibert  before  his  sword  is  dry!"  interjected  Cadcl. 
"I  would  not  give  a  Dutch  stiver  for  Le  Gardeur's  bones 
five  hours  after  he  has  pinked  the  Bourgeois !  " 

An  open  duel  in  form  was  not  to  be  thought  of,  because 
in  that  they  would  have  to  fight  the  son  and  not  the  father. 
and  the  great  object  would  be  frustrated.  But  the  bour- 
geois might  be  killed  in  a  sudden  fray,  when  blood  was  up 
and  swords  drawn,  when  no  one,  as  De  Pean  remarked, 
would  be  able  to  find  an  /  undotted  or  a  /  uncrossed  in  a 
fair   record   of   the   transaction,  which   would   impose   upon 


I'lll".    ANCIl'.Nl     (.KLlx.l.     1     lil.AI':     IIIM, 


53' 


adily :     Why. 

)i;j;(»t. 

11^  enough   to 

fd    l)c    I 'can. 

1. 

A  bloodv 
ir^cois  would 
)uld  l)rcak  up 

slioulder   and 

dover   than    I 

on  a  nii)di'  n\ 

reward   in   iht; 

your  promise. 

iod  you  shall 
Company  can 
you  shall  have 


»ean." 

reward  ! "  De 
of  Ange'li(|iie"s 

nk  or  sober,  is 
i  d'Klide  were 
her  on.  He  i-- 
le  and  all  th;it 

have  to  fighi 
3rjected  CacK : 
ardeur's  bont.> 

;ht  of,  because 
not  the  father. 
But  the  r.our- 
i  blood  was  ii] 
ean  remarked, 
uncrossed  in  a 
impose   upon 


the  most  critical  judge  as  an  honorable  and  justifiable  atl 
of  self-defence. 

This  was  Cadet's  real  intent,  and  perhaps  IJigot's,  but 
[he  Intendant's  thoughts  lay  at  unfathomable  depths,  and 
were  not  to  be  discovered  by  any  traces  upon  tiie  siuface. 
No  divining-rod  could  tell  where  the  secret  spring  lay  hid 
whicn  ran  under  IHgcjt's  motixes. 

Not  so  De  I'ean.  He  meditated  treaciiery,  and  it  were 
hard  to  say  whether  it  was  imnoted  by  the  penetrating 
eye  of  JJigot.  The  Intendant,  however,  did  not  interfere 
farther,  either  by  word  or  sign,  but  left  1  )e  I'ean  to  accom- 
plish in  his  own  way  the  bloody  object  they  all  had  in 
view,  namely,  the  death  of  the  I5ourgeois  and  the  breakuj) 
of  the  Honiictcs  Gens.  De  Pean,  while  resoKing  to  make 
Le  (iardeur  the  tool  of  his  wickedness,  did  not  dare  to  take 
him  into  his  confidence.  He  had  to  be  kept  in  absolute 
ignorance  of  the  part  he  was  to  play  in  the  bloody  tragedy 
until  the  moment  of  its  denouement  arrixed.  Meantime  he 
must  be  plied  with  drink,  maddened  with  jealousy,  made 
desperate  with  losses,  and  at  war  with  himself  and  all  the 
world,  and  then  the  whole  fury  of  his  rage  should,  by  the 
artful  contrivance  of  De  I'ean,  be  tinned,  without  a  min- 
ute's time  for  reflection,  upon  the  head  of  the  unsuspecting 
bourgeois. 

i'o  accomplish  this  successfully,  a  woman's  aid  was 
required,  at  once  to  blind  Le  Gardeur  and  to  sharpen  his 
sword. 

In  the  interests  of  the  Company  Angelique  des  Meloises 
was  at  all  times  a  violent  partisan.  The  Golden  Dog  and 
.ill  its  belongings  were  objects  of  her  ojien  aversion.  Hut 
i)e  I'ean  feaied  to  impart  to  her  his  intention  to  push  Le 
(Jardeur  bli  Uy  into  the  affair.  She  might  fear  for  the 
iifc  of  one  St.'!  loved.  De  i'ean  reflected  angrily  on  this, 
Dut  he  determined  she  should  be  on  the  spot.  The  sight 
tf  her  and  a  word  from  her,  which  De  Pean  would  prompt 
at  the  critical  moment,  should  decide  Le  (iardeur  to  attack 
the  IJourgeois  and  kill  him:  and  then,  what  would  follow  :* 
l)e  I'ean  rubbed  his  hands  with  ecstasv  at  the  thought  ihat 
l.e  (jardeur  would  inevitably  bite  the  dust  under  the  a\eag- 
wvi,  hand  of  I'ierre  I'hilibert,  and  Angelicpie  would  \r.).  his 
l)e\ond   all  fear  of  rivals. 


CHAPTER   XLVI. 


THE    BOURGEOIS    I'HFLinERT. 


THK  Bourgeois  Philiberl,  after  an  arduous  day's  work, 
was  enjoying  in  liis  armchair  a  quiet  siesta  in  the  old 
conitortable  i)arlor  of  liis  city  home. 

'I'he  sudden  advent  of  peace  had  opened  the  st;as  [n 
connnerce,  and  a  Heet  of  long-shut-u])  merchantmen  were 
rapidly  loadinj;  at  the  cpiays  of  tire  Friponne  as  well  as  .u 
those  of  the  Hourgeois,  with  tlie  prcxlucts  of  the  Colony  fur 
shipment  to  France  before  the  closing  in  of  the  St.  Lawrence 
by  ice.  The  summer  of  St.  Martin  was  lingering  soft  and 
warm  on  the  edge  of  winter,  and  every  available  man,  in- 
cluding the  soldiers  of  the  garrison,  were  busy  loading  iln- 
ships  to  get  them  off  in  time  to  escape  tlie  hmxl  nip  di 
winter. 

Dame  Rochelle  sat  near  the  window,  which  to-day  was 
open  to  the  balmy  air.  She  was  occupied  in  knitting,  and 
occasionally  glancing  at  a  volume  of  Jurieu's  hard  Calvinistic 
divinity,  which  lay  upon  the  table  beside  lier.  Her  spec- 
tacles reposed  ujion  the  open  page,  where  shti  had  laid  iheni 
clown  while  she  meditated,  as  was  her  custom,  upon  kiidti}- 
points  of  doctrine,  touching  free  will,  necessity,  and  election 
by  grace;  regarding  vvorks  as  a  garment  ol  tilthy  rags,  in 
which  publicans  and  sinners  who  trusted  in  them  were 
damned,  while  in  practice  tlie  good  soul  was  as  earnest  in 
perfornnng  them  as  if  she  believed  iier  sahation  depended 
exclusively  thereupon. 

Dame  Rochelle  had  received  a  new  lease  of  life  by  the 
return  home  of  Pierre  Philibeil.  .She  grtnv  radiant,  alni(»>i 
gay,  at  the  news  of  his  betrotlud  to  /\melie  de  Kepentignv. 
and  although  she  could  not  lay  aside  the  black  puritanical 
garb  she  had  worn  so  numy  N'cars,  hci"  kind  face  brightem.(l 
from  its  habitual  seriousness.  The  return  of  I'ierre  hroki' 
in  upon  her  quiet  routine  of  living  like  a  prolonged  festival. 

53= 


TIIK    IJOURGKOLS    IMI I  I.I  Hl.KT 


533 


s  day's  work, 
sta  in  the  old 

the  seas  to 
1  ant  men  wen: 
as  well  as  .u 
he  Colony  iny 

St.  Lawrenn; 
;ring  soft  and 
able  man.  in- 
ly  loading  the 

hard   nip  oi 

:h  to-day  was 
knitting,  and 
ird  CaKinistic 
r.  Her  spec- 
had  laid  them 
I,  upon  knotty 
■,  and  eleetien 
filtliy  rai;s,  in 
n  them  were 
as  earnest  in 
tion  dei)eiided 

of  life  by  the 
adianl,  alni(i.>i 
e  Repentiiiny. 
ck  puritan ienl 
.ce  iSri.ghtened 
i'ierri'  broke 
onged  festival. 


I'he  preparation  of  the  great  house  of  IJehnont  for  his  young 
iiide  completed  her  happiness. 

in  her  anxiety  to  discover  the  tastes  and  preferences  of 
:er  voung  mistress,  as  she  alreadv  called  her.  Dame  Koehelle 
.insulted  Amelie  on  every  point  of  her  arrangemenis,  tuul- 
dl;'  lier  own  innate  sense  of  the  beautiful  qi. ickened  by  con- 
lact  with  that  fresh  voung  nature.  She  was  alreadv  drawn 
1)V  ihat  infallible  attraction  which  every  one  felt  in  tlie  pres- 
ciK  e  of  Amt'lie. 

"Amelie  was  too  good  and  too  fair."  the  dame  said,  '"to 
iiL-eonu  any  man's  portion  but  Pierre  Philibert's  !  " 

The  dame's  Huguenot  prejudices  melted  like  wax  in  her 
;)resence,  until  Amelie  almost  divided  wit';  (irande  Marie, 
ihe  saint  of  the  (Jevennes,  the  homage  and  blessing  of  Dame 
Koehelle. 

'I'hose  were  days  of  unalloyed  delight  wiiich  she  si)ent  in 
superintending  the  arrangements  for  the  marriage  which  liad 
been  fixed  for  the  festivities  of  Christmas. 

it  was  to  be  celebrated  on  a  scale  worthy  of  the  rank  of 
ihe  heiress  of  Repentigny  and  of  the  wealth  of  the  Philiberts. 
The  rich  Hourgeois,  in  the  gladness  of  his  heart,  threw  open 
all  his  coffers,  and  blessed  with  tears  ol  happiness  the  money 
he  liung  out  with  both  hands  to  honor  the  nui)tials  of  Pierre 
and  Amt'lie. 

The  liourgeois  was  profoundly  happy  during  those  few 
brief  days  of  Indian  summer.  As  a  C'hristian,  he  rejoiced 
that  the  long  desolating  war  was  over.  As  a  colonist,  he 
lek  a  pride  that,  unetpial  as  had  been  the  struggle.  New 
Irance  remained  unshorn  of  territory,  and  by  its  resolute 
defence  hatl  forced  resjiect  from  e\en  its  enemies.  In  his 
eager  hope  he  saw  commerce  re\ive,  and  the  arts  and  com- 
toits  of  peai  e  take  the  place  of  war  ami  destruction.  The 
Husbandman  would  now  reap  for  himself  the  harvest  he  had 
M)\\n,  and  no  hunger  be  crushetl  1)\  the  exactions  of  the 
Friponne  I 

There  was  ho]ie  for  the  country.  The  inicpiitous  re'gi.ne 
iif  the  Intendanl,  whicdi  had  pleaded  tli'/  war  as  its  justifi- 
cation, must  close,  the  llourgeois  thought,  under  the  new 
coiulitions  of  peace.  The  hateful  monopoly  of  the  (Irand 
Company  must  be  oN'erthrown  b}  the  constitutional  aetion  of 
the  Ilonih'tcs  (/(7:s,  and   its  condemnation   \)y  [Uv.    Parlianu  nt 


534 


j'liK  (;()I.[)I':n   doc. 


of  Paris,  to  which  an   api)^^!  would   presently  be  canifd,  ii 
was  hoped,  would  he  secured. 

'I'iie  King  was  quarieling  with  the  Jesuits.  Tlie  Moliir^t^ 
were  hated  by  La  Pompadour,  and  he  was  certain  His  Majc.si\ 
would  never  hcjld  a  ///  Jr  j//.\/ii\-  to  command  the  registration 
of  the  decrees  issued  in  his  name  by  the  Intendant  of  New 
I'"rance  after  they  had  been  in  form  condemned  i)y  the  Par- 
liament of  I'aris. 

The    Pourgeois  still   reclined  very  still   on   his  easv  chair 
He  was  not  asleep.      In  the  daytime  he  never  slept.      His 
tlioughts,  like  the  dame's,  reverted  to  Pierre.      He  medilatetl 
the  repurchase  of  his  ancestral  home  in  Normandy  and  'die 
restoration  of  its  ancient  honors  for  his  son. 

Per.sonal  and  political  enmity  might  prevent  the  reversal 
of  his  own  unjust  condemnation,  bat  Pierre  had  wov  renown 
in  tlie  recent  campaigns.  Pie  was  fa\-ored  with  the  friciul- 
ship  of  many  of  the  noblest  personages  in  h'rance.  who 
would  support  his  suit  for  th(;  restoration  of  his  fainilv 
honors,  while  the  all-potent  inlluence  of  money,  the  oj)cii 
sesame  of  every  door  in  the  j)alace  of  Versailles,  would  noi 
be  spared  to  advance  his  just  claims. 

'I'he  crown  of  the  Pourgeois's  ambition  would  be  to  set- 
Pierre  restored  to  his  ancestral  chateau  as  the  Count  (V- 
Philibert,  and  Amelie  as  its  noble  chatelaine,  dispensing 
happiness  among  the  faithful  old  servitors  and  wissaK  ut 
his  family,  who  in  all  these  long  years  of  iiis  exile  ikmi 
forgot  their  brave  old  seigneur  who  had  been  banished  tn 
New  I'rance. 

Plis  rellecti(jns  took  a  ])ractical  turn,  and  he  einiir.erated 
in  his  mind  the  friends  he  t-ould  count  upon  in  P'rance  In 
support,  aiul  the  enemies  who  were  sure  to  oppose  llf 
attainnii'iit  ol  this  great  object  of  his  amiiiiioii.  Piii  the 
puK  hasc  ot  the  chfitt-au  and  lands  of  Philibeil  was  in  hi  ■ 
|)ower.  lis  Miesent  possessor,  a  neetl)'  t:ourtier.  was  deeply 
in  debt,  and  would  be  glad,  die  Poui'geois  had  asecilaiiied, 
to  sell  ilie  estates  for  sucli  a  price  as  he  could  easily  oiui 
him. 

To  sue  for  simple  justice  in  the'  restoration  ol   his  inhcr- 
itanee   woukl    be   useless.      It  wouKl   inxolw   a    life  long  lili 
gation.      'I'he    Pourgeois   ], referred   buying   it   ba   ';   at    wliit 
ever  price,  so  that  he  couKl  make   a  gift  of  it  at  once  I"  In 


THE    BOURGEOIS    PIliLlIJERT. 


535 


K 


>c  canu'd,  it 

'lie  Moliir.sts 
His  Majc>i\- 

c  i'L'L;i.str;Ui(in 
lain  of  New 

1  1)V  the   I'ar- 


is  easy  chair, 
r  slept.  Mis 
e  iiu'diiatcd 
andy  and  ihe 

I.  llie  reversal 
1  \\()V  renown 
ith  the  liieud- 
I'lance.  who 
of  his  faniilv 
ney,  tlie  open 
les,  wouhl  Hdl 

uld  be  to  sci 
the  ("ouni  d 
ic,  dispensing 
,nd  wissaK  ui 
is  exile  iievci 
1    banished  U< 

e  c'luiir.eratv  i 
ill    I'Vance  1- 
)    ()p|)osi'    ill 
ion.      but   ll> 
Ml    was  in   In 
T,  was  dei'i'i 
1    aseeit.dind 
1(1  easily  (hii  \ 

1  of  his.  inlier 
lil'edon^'  I  ill 
)a   ';   at    wli.il 
It  once  to  lii^' 


son,  and  he  had  already  instructed  his  bankers  in  Paris  to 
pay  the  price  a.-5ked  by  its  owner  and  forward  to  him  the 
deeds,  which  he  was  ambitious  to  present  to  Pierre  and 
Ainclie  on  the  day  of  their  marria<.^e. 

The  bourgeois  at  last  looked  up  from  his  reverie.  Dame 
Rochelle  closed  her  book,  waiting  for  her  master's  com- 
mands. 

"  Has  Pierre  returned,  dame  ?  "  asked  he. 

•'No,  master;  he  bade  me  say  he  was  going  to  accom- 
pany Mademoiselle  Amelie  to  Lorette." 

"Ah!  Amelie  had  a  vow  to  Our  Lady  of  St.  Foye,  and 
Pierre,  I  warrant,  desired  to  pay  half  the  debt !  What 
think  you,  dame,  of  your  godson.^  Is  he  not  promising?" 
The  bourgeois  laughed  C|uietly,  as  was  his  wont  sometimes. 

Dame  Kochelle  sat  a  shade  more  upright  in  her  chair. 
"Pieire  is  worthy  of  Amelie  and  Arnc'lie  of  him,"  replied 
she,  gravely ;  "  never  were  two  out  of  heaven  more  fitly 
matched.  If  they  make  vows  to  the  Lady  of  St.  Foye  they 
will  pay  them  as  religiously  as  if  they  had  made  them  to  the 
Most  High,  to  whom  we  are  commanded  to  pjay  our  vows!" 

"Well,  Dame,  some  turn  to  the  east  and  some  to  the  west 
to  pay  tiieir  vows,  but  the  holiest  siirine  is  where  true  love 
is.  and  there  alone  the  oracle  speaks  in  response  to  young 
hearts.  Amelie,  sweet,  modest  (lower  that  she  is,  pays  her 
vows  to  Our  Lady  of  St.  I'oye,  I'ierre  his  lo  Amelie!  I 
will  be  bound,  dame,  there  is  no  saint  in  the  calendar  so 
holy  in  his  eyes  as  herself  !  " 

"  Nor  deserves  to  be,  master !  Theirs  is  no  ordinary 
alTection.  If  love  be  the  fullilling  of  the  law,  all  law  is 
lullilled  in  these  two,  for  ne\er  tlid  the  elements  of  ha|)|)i- 
iMSs  mingle  more  sweetly  in  the  soul  of  a  man  ami  a  woman 
ihan  in  Pierre  and  Amelie  !  " 

'■  It  will  restore  your  youth,  dame,  lo  live  with  Pierre  and 
\iiielie,"  replied  the  bourgeois.  "Amelie  insists  on  it,  not 
hccause  of    Pierre,  she  says,   but  for  your  own  sake.      She 

IS  moved  to  tears  one  day,  dame,  when  she  made  me 
ivhitc  your  story." 

Dame  Rochelh-  jinl  on  Ium' spectacles  to  cover  her  eyes, 
which  W(M'i'  fast  Hlling,  as  s!ie  glanced  down  cjn  llie  black 
lobe  she  wore,  remembering  for  whom  she  wore  it. 

"Thanks,   master.      It   would   be  a  blessed    thing  to  end 


536 


TJIK    GOLDEN     DOG. 


the  remaining  clays  of  my  mourning  in  the  house  of  Pierre 
and  AmeHe,  but  my  quiet  mood  suits  better  the  house  uf 
my  master,  who  has  also  had  his  heart  saddened  by  a  long, 
long  day  of  darkness  and  regret." 

"  Yes,  dame,  but  a  bright  sunset,  1  trust,  awaits  it  now. 
The  descending  shadow  of  the  dial  goes  back  a  pace  on 
the  fortunes  of  my  house  !  I  hope  to  welcome  my  few  re- 
maining years  with  a  gayer  aspect  and  a  lighter  heart  than 
I  have  felt  since  we  were  driven  from  France.  What  would 
you  say  to  see  us  all  reimited  once  more  in  our  old  Xornian 
home  ?  " 

The  dame  gave  a  great  start,  and  clasped  her  thin  hands. 

"What  would  I  say,  master.''  Oh,  to  return  to  France, 
and  be  buried  in  the  green  valley  of  the  Cote  d'Or  by  the 
side  of  him,  were  next  to  rising  in  the  resurrection  of  the 
just  at  the  last  day." 

I'he  Dourgeois  knew  well  whom  she  meant  by  "  him." 
He  reverenced  her  feeling,  but  continued  tiie  topic  of  a 
return  to  France. 

"Well,  dame,  I  will  do  for  Pierre  what  I  would  not  do 
for  myself.  I  shall  repurchase  the  old  chateau,  and  use 
every  influence  at  my  command  to  prevail  on  the  King  to 
restore  to  Pierre  the  honors  of  his  ancestors.  Will  not  liial 
be  a  glorious  end  to  the  career  of  the  Bourgeois  Philibert?" 

"  Yes,  master,  but  it  may  not  end  there  for  you.  I  hear 
from  nn  quiet  window  many  things  spoken  in  the  streei, 
below.  Men  love  you  so,  and  need  you  so,  that  they  will 
not  spare  any  supplication  to  l)id  you  stay  in  the  Colony : 
and  you  will  stay  and  die  where  you  b.ave  lived  so  nian\ 
years,  under  the  shadow  of  the  Colden  Dog.  Some  men 
hate  you,  too,  because  you  love  justice  and  stand  up  for 
the  right.      I  have  a  recjuest  to  make,  deai'  master." 

"What  is  that,  dame.-'''  askeil  he  kindly,  |)repared  to 
grant  any  recjuest  of  hers. 

"Do  not  go  to  the  maiket  to-morrow,"  rejilied  she  ear- 
nestly. 

The  bourgeois  glan(\>d  sharply  at  the  dame,  who  contin- 
ued to  ply  her  needles.  Hi'i-  eyes  were  half  closeil  in  ;i 
semi-tranc'  ,  their  lids  trembling  with  nervous  e.xcitement. 
O.ie  of  l.jr  moods,  rare  of  late,  was  upon  her,  and  she  con- 
tinued : 


TIIK     I!()UK(ii:()I.S     I'HII.IUKRT, 


537 


Lisc  of  rifiic 
the  liousc  u\ 
d  by  a  l(Hig. 

y'aits  it  now, 
k  a  pace  on 
e  my  few  i\- 
;r  heart  than 
What  wonld 
old  Norm  an 

r  thin  hands. 
a  to  Fi'ancf. 
;  d'Ur  by  tlie 
ection  of  the 

t  by  "  him.  " 
e    topic    of  a 

voiild  not  do 
eau,   and   nsc 

the  KiiiL;  ti 
Will  not  thai 
s  Philibeil  ?' 
you.  I  hear 
in  the  stiein 
that  the\'  will 
.  the  Colon}  : 
ived  .so  many 
Some   nuat 

stand  up  hn 
ter." 

prepared    to 

ilied   she  eai 

:,  who  conlin 
f   closeil    in  .i 
IS  excitement, 
and  she  con- 


'•Oh,  my  dear  master!  you  will  never  go  to  France;  but 
I'ierre  shall  inherit  the  honors  of  the  house  of  IMiilibert !  " 

The  l)Ourjj;eois  looked  ujd  contentedly.  Me  respected, 
without  putting  entire  faith  in  I  >ame  Rochelle's  inspirations. 
■  I  shall  be  resigned,"  he  said,  "  not  to  see  1^'rance  again, 
if  the  King's  Majesty  make^.  it  a  condition  that  he  restore 
io  Pierre  the  dignity,  while  I  give  him  back  the  domain  of 
his  fathers." 

Dame  Rochelle  clasped  her  liands  hard  together  and 
>i^hod.  She  spake  not,  but  her  lips  nuned  in  prayer  as  if 
deprecating  some  danger,  or  combating  some  presentiment 
of  e\il. 

I'he  Bourgeois  watched  her  narrowly.  Her  moods  ol 
Jc\()ut  contemplation  sometimes  perplexed  his  clear  worldly 
ui.sdom.  He  could  scarcely  btilieve  that  hv.v  intuitions  were 
other  than  the  natural  result  of  a  wonderfully  sensitive  and 
apprehensive  nature  ;  still,  in  his  experience  he  had  found 
that  her  fancies,  if  not  supernatural,  were  not  unworthy  of 
lei^ard  as  the  sublimation  of  reason  by  intellectual  processes 
of  which  the  possessor  was  unconscious. 

"  \'ou  again  see  trouble  in  store  for  me,  dame,"  said  he 
smiling;  "but  a  merchant  of  New  France  setting  at  defiance 
the  decrees  of  the  Royal  Intend.mt,  an  exile  seeking  from 
the  King  the  restoration  of  the  lordship  of  Philibert,  may  well 
lia\  e  trouble  on  his  hands." 

"  Yes,  master,  but  as  yet  I  only  see  troul)le  like  a  misty 
(loud  which  as  yet  has  neither  form  nor  color  of  its  (  n,  but 
unly  reliects  red  rays  as  of  a  setting  sun.  No  voice  an  its 
midst  tells  me  its  meaning;  I  thank  Ood  for  that.  I  ike  not 
'"  anticipate  evil  that  may  not  be  averted!  " 

"  Whom  does  it  touch.  Pierre  or  Ame'lie,  me,  or  a1 
i^ked  the  l!ouri>"eois. 

"All  of  us.  master?      How  could  any  misfort'     > 
than  concern  us  all?     What  it  means,  1  know  no> 
iikr  the  wheel  seen  by  the  Prophet,  full  of  eyes  within  and 
without,  like  (lod's  providence  looking  for  his  elect." 

'■  .\nd  hndinix  thtni  ?  " 


of  us?" 

do  other 
It  is  now 


.\(jt  yet,   master,  but   ere  loi 


findini 


all   ere 


lontr 


>->' 


ici)lied  she  in  a  dreamy  manner.     "  Put  go  not  to  the  market 


to-morrow, 


These    are    strange   fancies   of    y(nu"s.    Dame    Kochelle. 


53H 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG, 


Why  caution  me  a_<i;ainst  the  market  to-morrow  ?  It  is  the 
day  of  St.  Martin;  the  poor  will  expect  me;  if  I  go  not, 
many  will  return  empty  away." 

"  They  are  not  wholly  fancies,  master.  Two  gentlemen  of 
the  Palace  passed  to-day,  and  looking  up  at  the  tablet,  one 
wagered  the  other  on  the  battle  to-morrow  between  Cerbe- 
rus and  the  Oolden  Dog.  1  have  not  forgotten  wholly  niv 
early  lessons  in  classical  lore,"  added  the  dame. 

"  Nor  I,  dame.  I  comprehend  the  allusion,  Init  it  will  n(^i 
keep  me  from  the  market !  1  will  be  watchful,  however,  for 
I  know  that  the  malice  of  my  enemies  is  at  this  time  greater 
than  ever  before." 

"  Let  Pierre  go  with  you,  and  you  will  be  safe,"  said  tlie 
dame  half  imploringly. 

'Phe  IJourgeois  laughed  at  the  suggestion  and  began  good- 
humoredly  to  rally  her  on  her  curious  gift  and  on  the  incon- 
venience of  having  a  prophetess  in  his  house  to  anticipate 
the  evil  day. 

Dame    Rochelle  would  not  say  more.      She  knew  that  to 
express  her  fears  more  distinctly  would  only  harden  the  reso 
lution  of  the   IJoin'geois.      His  natural  courage  woukl  make 
him  court  the  special  danger  he  ought  to  avoid. 

"  Master,"  said  she,  suddenlv  casting  her  eves  in  !he  street. 
*'  there  rides  past  one  of  the  gentlemen  who  wagered  on  the 
battle  between  Cerberus  and  the  (}olden  Dog." 

The  IJourgeois  had  sufficient  curiosity  to  look  out.  He 
recognized  the  Chevalier  de  Pean,  and  trancjuilly  resumed 
his  seat  with  the  remark  that  "that  was  truly  one  of  the 
heads  of  Cerberus  which  guards  the  P'riponne,  a  fellow  who 
wore  the  collar  of  the  Intendant  and  was  worthy  of  it.  'I'lie 
(lolden  Dog  had  nothing  U)  fear  from  him." 

Dame  Kochelle,  full  of  iier  own  thoughts,  followed  will) 
her  eyes  the  retreating  figure  of  the  Chevalier  de  iV'an.  whom 
she  lost  sight  e.f  at  the  Hrst  turn,  as  he  rode  rajjidly  to  the 
house  of  Angeliciue  des  Meloises.  Since  the  fatal  eve  of  St. 
Michael,  .\ngelique  had  been  tossing  in  a  sea  of  conflicting 
emotions,  sometimes  brightened  by  a  wild  hope  of  the  In- 
som(   " 


tendant, 
deal 


m 


es  darkened  with  fear  of  the  discovery 


er  tlealinirs  with  La  Cornveau. 


It  was  in  vain  she  tried  every  artifice  of  female  bland!>! 
ment  and  cunning  to  di.bcover  what  was  really  in  the  he.i' 


Till'.    IIOCKdl'lolS    IMIILII'.KKT, 


539 


afe,"  said  the 


s  in  I  he  street, 


;unl  mind  of  ISij^ot.  She  had  sonnded  his  soul  to  try  if  he 
cniertained  a  suspicion  of  herself,  but  its  depth  \vas  beyond 
iier  power  U)  reach  its  bottomless  darkness,  and  to  the  last 
she  could  not  resolve  whether  he  susjjected  her  or  not  of 
complicity  with  the  death  of  the  umortunate  Caroline. 

She  never  ceased  to  curse  T.a  ("orriveau  for  that  felon 
stroke  of  her  mad  stiletto  which  chanujed  what  miirht  have 
l)assed  for  a  simple  death  by  heartbreak  into  a  foul  assassi- 
nation. 

The  Intendant  she  knew  must  be  well  aware  that  Caroline 
had  been  murdered  :  i)ut  he  had  never  named  it  or  given 
the  least  token  of  consciousness  that  such  a  crime  had  been 
committed  in  his  house. 

It  was  in  \ain  that  she  repeated,  with  a  steadiness  of  face 
which  sometimes  imposed  even  on  Higot,  her  rec|uest  for  a 
/i'///r  tie  oir/tcf,  or  urged  the  banishment  of  her  rival,  until 
the  Intendant  one  day,  with  a  look  which  for  a  moment  anni- 
hilated her,  told  her  that  her  rival  had  gone  fr'-n-  Meaumanoir 
and  Would  ne\er  trouble  her  any  more. 

What  did  lie  mean?  Angelicjue  had  noted  every  change 
of  muscle,  every  curve  of  li|)  and  eyelash  as  he  spake,  and 
she  felt  more  pu/:;<led  than  before. 

She  replied,  howe\'er,  with  the  assurance  she  could  so  well 
assume,  "Thanks,  Higot;  1  did  not  speak  from  jealousy.  I 
itnly  asked  for  justice  and  the  fuHllmeiU  of  }'our  promise  to 
send  her  away." 

"  Hut  1  did  not  send  her  away.  She  has  gone  away,  1 
know  not  whither,  -  gone,  do  you  mind  me,  .\ngeli(iue  .^  I 
would  give  half  my  possessions  to  know  who  helped  her  to 
'  w,//>/'       yes,  that  is  the  word        from  lieaumanoir." 

.\ngeli(]iie  had  expected  a  burst  of  jiassion  from  Higot; 
^he  hail  i)ie[)aied  lierself  for  it  l)\-  diligent  lehcarsal  o|  how 
she  would  demean  herself  undeiever\"  possible  form  ol  charge, 
tinm  l)are  innuendo  to  tlireet  impeachment  of  hersell. 

Keenly  as  Higot  watched  Angeli(|ue,  he  could  tletect  no 
sign  of  confusion  in  her.  She  trembled  in  hei  heart,  but  her 
lips  wore  their  oUl  practised  smile.  I  ler  eyes  openeil  widely, 
looking  surprise,  not  guilt,  as  slie  shook  him  b\'  tlie  sleeve  or 
eo(|ueiti')hly  jjulled  his  hair,  askhig  if  he  thought  that  "she 
had  stolen  away  his  lady-love  !  " 

Higot  though  only  half  diMi'ived.  tried  to  persuade  himself 


540 


THE    (iOLDKN    DOG, 


of  her  innocence,  and  left  her  after  an  hour's  daUiance  wiiii 
the  half  belief  that  she  did  not  really  merit  the  grave  su.^pi 
cions  he  had  entertained  of  her. 

Angeliciue  feared,  however,  that  he  was  only  acting  a  part. 
What  part?  It  was  still  a  mystery  to  her,  and  likely  to  he; 
she  had  l)ut  one  criterion  to  disco\er  his  real  thc^ughts.  'I'lic 
offer  of  his  hand  in  marriage  was  the  only  test  she  relied 
upon  to  prove  her  acc|uittal  in  the  mind  of  IJigot  of  all  coni- 
plicity  with  the  death  of  Caroline. 

]>ut  iJigot  was  far  from  making  the  desired  offer  of  hi-, 
hand.  That  terrible  night  in  the  secret  chamber  of  ISfau- 
manoir  was  not  absent  from  his  mind  an  hour.  It  could 
ne\er  be  forgotten,  least  of  all  In  the  company  of  Ange'liciue. 
wh(;in  he  was  judging  incessantly,  either  convicting  or  ac- 
quitting her  in  his  mind  as  he  was  alternately  impressed  l)y 
her  well-acted  innocent  gaiety  or  stung  by  a  sudden  pcr- 
cejition  of  her  power  of  deceit  and  unrivalled  assurance. 

So  they  went  on  from  day  to  day,  fencing  like  two  adepts 
in  the  art  of  dissimulation,  Higot  never  glancing  at  the 
murtler,  and  speaking  of  Caroline  a.--  gone  away  to  ]3aits 
unktiown,  but,  as  Angeliciue  observed  with  bitterness.  ne\ei 
making  that  a  reason  foi-  pressing  his  suit  ;  while  she,  as 
suming  the  role  of  innocence  and  ignorance  of  all  that  had 
happened  at  Heaumanoir,  put  on  an  appearance  of  satisfiK 
tion,  or  pretending  still  to  hts  of  jealousy,  grew  fonder  in 
her  demeanor  and  acted  as  though  she  assumed  as  a  maltc 
of  course  that  Digot  would  now  fulfill  her  hopes  of  speedilv 
making  her  his  bride. 

'TIk  IntiMulant  had  come  and  gone  every  dav,  unchanm.(l 
in  his  manner,  full  of  sj)irits  and  gallantry,  and  as  warm  in 
his  a'l'uiration  as  before  :  but  her  womanly  instinct  told  In  i 
there  was  something  hidden  under  that  gav  exterior. 

lligot  accepted  e\ery  challenge  of  flirtation,  and  ought  t^ 
have  declared  himself  twenty  times  over,  but    he  did   iioi 
lie  seemed  to  bring  himself  to  the  brink  of  an  avowal  onl\ 
to  break  into  her  confidence  and  surprise  the  secret  she  kiqit 
so  des|)erately  concealed. 

.\ngeli(pie  met  craft  by  craft,  duplicity  by  duplicity,  hut 
it  bi;gan  to  be  clear  to  herself  that  she  had  met  with  her 
match,  and  although  the  Intendant  grew  more  j^ressing  ;is  a 
lover,  she  had  daily  less  hope  of  winning  him  as  a  luisbuiul. 


THK    BOURGEOIS    I'll  I IJ  HICK  T. 


541 


alliance  with 
grave  suspi 

icting  a  part, 
likely  lu  he  ; 
)ui;hts.  'I'ho 
St  she  relied 
»t  (;f  all  coni- 

offer  of  hi> 
ber  of  l!eau- 
ir.  It  could 
A  Angel ic|in'. 
icting  or  ;i(  - 
impressed  1)\ 

sudden   )3er 
isu  ranee, 
te  two  adept, 
ncing  at    tin; 
wav  to    parts 
erness.  ne\ci 
vhile  she,  as 
[  all  that  hatl 
:e  of  satisfai- 
ew  fonder  in 
d  as  a  niattt" 
es  of  speedily 

y,  unchanged 
d  as  warm  111 
itinct  told  Ik  1 
erior. 

and  ought  t" 
.    he  did    imt 
1  avowal  only 
2cret  she  ke[)t 

duplicity.  Imt 

met  with  Iut 

pressing  ;is  a 

as  a  luishaiul. 


The  thought  was  maddening.  Such  a  result  admitted  of 
a  twofold  meaning  :  either  he  suspected  her  of  the  death  of 
Caroline,  or  her  charms,  which  had  never  failed  before  with 
any  man,  failed  now  to  entangle  the  one  man  she  h.ad  re- 
solved to  marry. 

She  cursed  him  in  her  heart  while  she  flattered  him  with 
her  tongue,  but  by  no  art  she  was  mistress  of,  neither  by 
fondness  nor  by  coyness,  could  she  extract  the  declaration 
she  regarded  as  her  due  and  was  indignant  at  not  receivinir. 
She  had  fairly  earned  it  by  her  great  crime.  She  had  still 
more  fully  earned  it,  siie  thought,  by  her  ((mdescensions. 
She  regartled  I'rovidence  as  unjust  in  withholding  her  re- 
ward, and  for  punishing  as  a  sin  that  which  for  her  sake 
ought  to  be  considered  a  virtue. 

She  often  retiected  with  regretful  looking  back  upon  the 
i'i\-  which  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  would  have  mani- 
t't'sted  over  the  least  of  the  favors  which  she  had  lavished 
in  \ain  upon  the  inscrutable  Intendant.  At  such  moments 
>lic  cursed  her  evil  star,  which  had  led  her  astrav  to  listen 
'')  the  promptings  of  ambition  and  to  ask  fatal  counsel  of 
ha  ( 'orriveau. 

Le  (jardeur  was  now  in  the  swift  downward  road  of 
destruction.  This  was  the  one  thing  that  caused  Angeli(iue 
I  lunnan  pang.  She  might  yet  fail  in  all  her  and)itious 
prospects,  and  have  to  fall  back  upon  her  first  lo\e,  —  when 
iven  that  would  be  too  late  to  save  Le  Gardeur  or  to  save 
her. 

1  )e  Pean  rode  fast  up  the  Rue  St.  Louis,  not  unobservant 
of  the  dark  looks  of  the  Homicfcs  Gens  or  the  familiar  nods 
and  knowing  smiles  of  the  ])artisans  of  the  l-'rijionne  whom 
he  met  on  the  way. 

before  the  door  of  the  mansion  of  the  ("hewalier  des 
Meloises  he  saw  a  valet  of  tlie  Tntcndant  holding  his  mas- 
^t'Ts  liorse,  and  at  the  broad  window,  half  hid  behi'.ul  the 
thick  curtains,  sat  IJigot  and  Angelicjue  engaged  in  badinage 
uul  nuiiual  deceixing,  as  De  Pean  well  knew. 

Her  silvery  laugh   struck    his   ear  as    Ik;   drew   up.      He 

ursed    them   both  :   but   fear  of   the    Intendant,   and    a   due 

'Vizard  to  his  own  interests,  twf)  feelings  never  absent  from 

the  Chevalier  De  Pean,  caused  him  to  ride  on,  not  st(jpi)ing 

as  he  harl  intended. 


I 


A 


542 


Tin:    <;nl.l)i:N     ixx;. 


He  would  ride  to  the  end  of  the  Grande  Allee  and  rctuin. 
By  that  time  the  Intendant  would  be  gone,  and  she  would 
be  at  liberty  to  receive  his  invitation  for  a  ride  to-morrow, 
when  tliey  v.ould  visit  the  Cathedral  and  the  market. 

De  l\jan  knew  enough  of  the  ways  of  Angclique  to  see 
that  she  aimed  at  the  hand  of  the  Intendant.  Slie  had 
slighted  and  \ilipended  himself  even,  while  accepting  hi^ 
gifts  and  gallantries,  iiut  with  a  true  appreciation  of  liei 
character,  he  had  faith  in  the  ultimate  power  of  money, 
which  represented  to  her,  as  to  most  women,  position,  tlress, 
jewels,  stately  houses,  carriages,  and  above  all,  the  envy 
and   iealousv  of  her  own  sex. 

'I'he.se  things   I  )e  I'ean   iiad  wagered  on  the  head  of  An 
gehcjue  against  the  wikl    love    of    Le    (iardeur,  the    emptv 
admiration  of   Higot,  and  the  flatteries  of  the  troop  of  idle 
gentlemen  who  dawdled  around  her. 

He  felt  confident  that  in  the  end  victory  would  be  hi^, 
and  the  fair  Angelique  would  one  day  lay  her  hand  in  his  a> 
the  wife  of  Hugues  de  Pean. 

De  I'ean  knew  that  in  her  heart  she  had  no  love  for  the 
Intendant,  and  the  Intendant  no  respect  for  her.     Moreo\er, 
nigot  would  not  venture  to  marry  the  (^'-^^-'^'^  of  Sheba  willi 
out  the  sanction  of  his  jealous  patroness  at  Court,     i  le  niii;,li! 
possess  a  hundred   mistres.ses  if  he  liked,  and  be  congrain 
lated   on    his    hoimcs  fortunes^  but  not  one  wife,  under    I  Ik. 
penalty    of    losing    the    favor   of    La    Pompadour,  who  hivi 
chosen  a  future  wife  for  him  out  of  the  crowd  of  inlriguantt,- 
who  fluttered  round  he}",  basking  like  butterflies  in  the  sun 
shine  of  her  semi-regal  splendor. 

])igot  had  passed  a  wild  night  at  the  Palace  among  tli< 
partners  of  the  Grand  C'ompany,  who  had  met  to  curse  thr 
])eace  and  drink  a  speedy  renewal  of  the  war.  liefore  si; 
ting  down  to  their  debauch,  however,  they  had  discussed. 
with  more  regard  to  their  peculiar  interests  than  to  tii< 
])rinciples  of  the  Decalogue,  the  condition  and  prospects  o' 
the  Company. 

The  prospect  was  so  little  encouraging  to  the  as.sociatr 
that  they  were  glad  when  tlie   Intendant  bade  them  c1i(.h  i 
up  and  remendjer  that  all  was  not  lost  that  was  in  danuci. 
"  Philibert    would  yet  undergo  the  fate  of  Acta'on.  and  I'c 
torn    in   pieces   by    his    own    dog."     Higot,  as   he  saifl  this. 


TIIK    liOUKC.KOlS    riiiLii;i:K  I  . 


543 


c  and  rctimi 
1(1  slie  would 
,e  to-morrow, 
irket. 

Jlique  tf)  sen 
I.       She    had 
iccL'ptinn   hi 
iation  of  hci 
:r    of    niont;} 
nsilion,  dress 
II,   the    cn\\ 

head  of  An 
r,  the  eini)l\ 
troop  of  i(l!r 

^voLild  be   hi^, 
land  in  his  a-^ 

0  love  for  tin 
Moref)\ei 

jf  Siieba  will  I 
irt.     i  ie  nii^li! 

1  be  conji,ratii 
ife,  under    the 
lour,  who  had 
:)f  intrij:^uanlcs 
es  in  the  sun 


j;lanced  from  Le  (lardeur  to  De  I'ean,  with  a  look  and  a 
mile  which  caused  C'adet,  who  knew  its  meaning,  to  .shrug 
ills  shoulders  and  inquire  of  I  )e  Pean  privately,  *'  Is  tiie  trap 

set  ?  " 

"It  is  set!"  replied  l)e  Pean  in  a  whisper.  "It  will 
>print^  to-morrow  and  catch  our  game,  I   hope." 

"  Vou  must  have  a  crowd  and  a  row,  mind  !  this  thing,  to 
he  safe,  must  be  done  openly,"  whispered  C'adet  in  rej)ly. 

"We  will  have  both  a  crowd  and  a  row,  ne\er  fear!  The 
!iew'  preacher  of  the  Jesuits,  who  is  fresh  from  Italy  and 
knows  nothing  about  our  plot,  is  to  inveigh  in  the  market 
a:j;ainst  the  Jansenists  and  the  //o/zz/rfi's  Gc/k.  If  that  does 
iKit  make  both  a  crowd  and  a  row,  I  do  not  know  what  will." 

"  \  ou  are  a  deep  devil,  De  Pean  !  So  deep  that  I  doubt 
\ou  will  cheat  yourself  yet,"  answererl  Cadet  gruffly. 

"  \ever  fear,  ("adet  !  To-morrow  night  shall  see  the  Palace 
^ay  with  illumination,  and  the  Golden  Dog  in  darkness  and 
despair." 


ce  among  tin.' 
it  to  curse  I  lie 
r.  Before  sit 
Kid  discussed, 
\  than  to  ilir 
d  prospects  r)t 

the  associates 
le  them  cheer 
A'as  in  danger, 
cta'on.  and  l)e 
,   he  saifl  this. 


'M 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


v- 


^ 


{./ 


:/. 


1.0 


I.I 


121   121 


■u  1^    12.2 

S  Hi    "• 

£    LS    12.0 


I 


1.25  ||U     |,.6 

^ 4«  

^ ► 

V] 


^2. 


7 


Hiotographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


33  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

WnSTIR.N.Y.  14S80 

(716)  173-4503 


^  ■^ 

> 


CHAPTKR    XLVII. 


A    DRAWN    (JAME. 


IK  CiARDKUR  was  too  drunk  to  catch  the  full  drift  of 
_^  the  Iiitendaiit's  reference  to  the  llourj^eois  under  tin 
metaphor  of  Acta-on  torn  in  pieces  by  iiis  <»wn  do^.  lit 
only  comprehended  enough  to  know  that  something  w.is 
intended  to  the  disparagement  of  the  IMiiliberts.  and  firing 
up  at  the  idea,  swore  loudly  that  "neither  tlu;  Intcndant  nor 
all  the  Grand  Comixmy  in  mass  should  harm  a  hair  of  tlir 
liourgeois's  head  !  " 

"It  is  the  dog!"  exclaimed  I)e  l*ean,  "which  the  Coin 
pany  will    hang,  not   his    master,  nor   your  friend   his    son, 
nor  your  friend's  friend  the  old   Huguenot  witch  !     \\\'  will 
let  them  hang  themselves  when  their  time  comes:  hut  il  is 
the  (iolden  Dog  we  mean  to  hang  at  present,  Le  (lanleurl" 

"  \'es !  1  see!"  replied  Le  (iardeur,  looking  very  lia/y. 
"  Hang  the  (iolden  Dog  as  much  as  you  will,  but  as  to  the 
man  that  touches  his  master,  I  say  he  will  have  to  fight  ///,■. 
that  is  all."  Le  (lardeur,  after  one  or  two  vain  attempts, 
succeeded  m  drawing  his  sword,  and  laid  it  upon  the  tablf. 

"Do  you  see  that,  De  I'ean  ?  That  is  the  sword  of  ;i 
gentleman,  and  I  will  run  it  through  the  heart  of  an\  lu.iii 
who  says  he  will  hurt  a  hair  of  the  head  of  Pierre  I'hilibcri. 
or  the  IJourgeois,  or  even  the  oltl  Huguenot  witch,  as  \(ii! 
call  Dame  Rochelle,  who  is  a  lady,  and  too  good  to  be  eitlu  i 
your  mother,  aunt,  or  cater  cousin,  in  any  way,  De  I'ean!" 

"  I5y  St.  Picot  !  \'ou  have  mistaken  your  man.  De  IVan!' 
whispered  ( "adet.  "  Why  the  deuce  did  you  pitch  upon  \.v 
(lardeur  to  carry  cnit  your  bright  iilea  .'  " 

"  I  pitched  u[)()n  him  because  he  is  the  best  man  for  oui 
turn,  lUit  I  am  right.  \{)u  will  see  1  am  right.  Le(lar(Kin 
is  the  pink  of  moralitx  when  he  is  sober,  lie  would  kill  iln 
devil  when  he  is  half  drunk,  but  when  whollv  drunk  lu-  would 
storm  paradi.se,  and  sack  and  slay  like  a  (lerman  ritter.      Mr 

544 


A    DRAWN    GAME. 


545 


would  kill  his  own  grandfather, 
him." 


I  have  not  erred  in  choos- 


in 


lii^ot  watched  this  by-play  with  intense  interest.  He  saw 
i!uU  Le  (iardeur  was  a  two-edged  weapon  just  as  likely  to 
cut  his  friends  as  his  enemies,  unless  skilfully  held  in  hand, 
and  blinded  as  to  when  and  whom  he  should  strike. 

"Come,  Le  (Iardeur,  put  up  your  sword!"  exclaimed 
Hi^n)i,  coaxingly;  "we  havef  better  game  to  bring  down 
tonight  than  the  (lolden  Dog.  Hark!  They  are  coming! 
Open  wide  the  doors,  and  let  the  blessed  peacemakers 
enter ! " 

"  The  peacemakers  ! "  ejaculated  Cadet ;  "  the  cause  of 
every  quarrel  among  men  since  the  creation  of  the  world  ! 
What  made  you  send  for  the  women,  Higot.''" 

*'()h,  not  to  say  their  prayers,  you  may  be  sure,  old 
misogynist,  but  this  being  a  gala-night  at  the  I'alace,  the 
;,Mrls  and  fiddlers  were  ordered  up  by  l)e  I'ean,  and  we  will 
M'c  you  (lance  fandangoes  with  them  until  morning,  Cadet." 

"No  you  won't!  Damn  the  women!  1  wish  you  had 
kept  them  away,  that  is  all.      It  spoils  my  fun,  IJigot !  " 

"  i)Ut  it  helps  the  Company's  !     Here  they  come  !  " 

Their  appearance  at  the  door  caused  a  hubbub  of  excite- 
ment among  the  gentlemen,  who  hurried  forward  to  salute  a 
dozen  or  more  women  dressed  in  the  extreme  of  fashion, 
uh(j  came  forward  with  plentiful  lack  of  modesty,  and  a 
>uperabundance  of  gaiety  and  laughter. 

I.e  Gardeur  and  Cadet  did  not  rise  like  the  rest,  but  kept 
their  .seats.  Cadet  swore  that  De  I'ean  had  spoiled  a  jolly 
evening  by  inviting  the  women  to  the  Palace. 

These  women  had  been  invited  )n'  De  I'ean  to  give  ze.st 
to  the  wild  orgie  that  was  intended  to  prepare  Le  (Iardeur 
for  their  plot  of  to-morrow,  which  was  to  compass  the  fall  of 
the  llourgeois.  They  sat  down  with  the  gentlemen,  listening 
with  peals  of  laughter  to  their  coarse  jests,  and  tempting 
them  to  wilder  follies.  'I'hey  drank,  they  sang,  they  danced 
A\u\  conducted,  or  misconducted,  themsehes  in  such  a  thor- 
oiii^hly  shameless  fashion  that  IJigot,  Varin,  and  other  exjjerts 
of  the  Court  swore  that  the  /(7//v  iipf>(irtcnunts  of  Versailles, 
or  even  the  royal  fetes  of  the  Pare  tutx  ccrfs^  could  not  sur- 
pass the  high  life  and  jollity  of  the  I'alace  of  the  Intendanl. 

In  that  wild  fashion   lligol  had  passed  the  night  previous 


546 


THK    GOLDEN    HOG. 


to  his  present  visit  to  Angclique.  The  ChevaHer  de  Pean 
rode  the  length  of  the  (}rande  Alice  and  returned.  'I'he  valet 
and  horse  of  the  Intendant  were  still  waiting  at  the  door, 
and  De  l*ean  saw  IJigot  and  Angelique  still  seated  at  ihe 
window  engaged  in  a  lively  conversation,  and  not  apparentlv 
noticing  his  presence  in  the  street  as  he  sat  pulling  hairs  out 
of  the  mane  of  his  horse,  '*  with  the  air  of  a  man  in  love,"  .is 
Angelic|ue  laughingly  remarked  to  IJigol. 

Her  (juick  eye,  which  nothing  could  escape,  had  seen  De 
Pean  the  lirst  time  he  passed  the  house.  She  knew  that  he 
had  come  to  visit  her,  and  seeing  the  horse  of  the  Intendant 
at  the  door,  had  forborne  to  enter,  —  that  would  not  have 
been  the  way  with  Le  Gardeur,  she  thought.  He  woukl 
have  entered  all  the  readier  had  even  the  Dauphin  held  her 
in  conversation. 

Angelique  vvas  woman  enough  to  like  best  the  bold  gallant 
who  carries  the  female  heart  by  storm  and  puts  the  parlev 
ing  garrison  of  denial  to  the  sword,  as  the  Sabine  women 
admired  the  spirit  of  their  Roman  captors  and  became  the 
most  faithful  of  wives. 

I)e  Pean,  clever  and  unprincipled,  was  a  menial  in  his 
soul,  as  cringing  to  his  superiors  as  he  was  arrogant  to  those 
below  him. 

"  Fellow  !  "  said  he  to  IJigot's  groom,  *'  how  long  has  the 
Intendant  been  here  ?  " 

"  All  the  afternoon.  Chevalier,"  replied  the  man,  respect- 
fully uncovering  his  head. 

*'  Hum  !  and  have  they  sat  at  the  window  all  the  time  ?  " 

''  I  have  no  eyes  to  watch  my  master,"  replied  the  groom ; 
"  I  do  not  know." 

"Oh!"  was  the  reply  of  De  Pean,  as  he  suddenly  re 
fleeted  that  it  were  l)est  for  himself  also  not  to  be  seen 
watchiuii 
humor 


his  master  too  closely.      He  uttered  a  spurt  ot  ill 
md  continued  nuUiuir  the  mane  of  his  horse  throiiuh 


his  fnm:ers. 


IV, 


"The  Chevalier  de   Pean   is  practising    patience    tod 
Bigot,"  said  she  ;  "  and  you  give  him  enough  time  to  exer- 
cise it." 

"  \'ou  wish  me  gone,  Angelifjue!"  said  he.  rising;  "  Hu' 
Chevalier  de  Pean  is  naturally  waxing  impatient,  ami  you 
too !  " 


"  Psh 

please  t 

"Or 
and    wi 
wife's  fi 

Ange 
;rue  a  w 
iiini  foi 
roniemb 
cheat  ai 

••  Wd 

that  str 

manner. 

i  .ulinirin, 

as  she  t 

•''Tis 
I  lodks  ti( 

She  g 
he  did 
ilashed  < 
ij  loo,  as  t 
once  tiei 
road  in 
l()\ed  hi 
from  toL 
moment, 

^Vith 


I 


,1C 


a 


A    DRAWN    (iAMK. 


547 


jling  liaiiN  out 
m  in  love,"  .is 


menial  in  his 


man,  respccl- 

the  time  ? " 
ed  the  sirooin; 


"Pshaw!"  exclaimed  she;  "he  shall  wait  as  long  as  I 
please  to  keep  him  there." 

••  Or  as  l(^ng  as  I  stay.  He  is  an  accommodatin<;  lover, 
and  will  make  an  ecjually  accommodatint;  husband  for  his 
wife's  friend  some  day  !"  remarked  ])ii;ut  lau<:;hingly. 

.\nf;elic|ue's  eyes  flashed  out  tire,  but  she  little  knew  how 
line  a  word  P>ij;ol  had  s[)oken  in  jest.  She  could  have  choked 
him  for  mentioninjj;  her  in  connection  with  l)e  I'ean,  but 
loinembering  she  was  now  at  his  mercy,  it  was  necessary  to 
cheat  and  cozen  this  man  by  trying  to  please  him. 

"Well,  if  you  mu.st  go,  you  must.  Chevalier!  Let  me  tie 
that  string,"  continued  she,  approaching  him  in  her  easy 
manner.  'I'he  knot  of  his  cra\at  was  loose.  IJigot  glanced 
admiringly  at  her  slightly  Hushed  cheek  and  dainty  lingers 
as  she  tied  the  loose  ends  of  his  rich  steinkirk  together. 

""{'is  like  love,"  said  she,  laughingly;  "a  slip-knot  that 
looks  tied  until  it  is  tried." 

.She  glanced  at  I'igot,  expecting  him  to  thank  her,  which 
he  did  with  a  simple  word.  'IMie  thought  of  Caroline 
ilashed  over  his  mind  like  lightning  at  that  moment.  She, 
loo,  as  they  walked  on  the  shore  of  the  Hay  of  Minas  had 
(ince  tied  the  string  of  his  cravat,  when  for  the  first  time  he 
ivad  in  her  Hushed  cheek  and  trembling  lingers  that  she 
l(i\ed  him.  l>ig<)t,  hardy  as  he  was  and  reckless,  refrained 
from  touching  the  hand  or  even  looking  at  Angelique  at  this 
moment 

With  the  quick  perception  of  her  sex  she  felt  it.  and  drew 
h;uk  a  step,  not  knowing  but  the  next  moment  might  over- 
whelm her  with  an  accusation,  liut  Bigot  was  not  sine, 
and  he  dared  not  hint  to  Angelique  more  than  he  had 
(lone. 

"Thanks  fcjr  tying  the  knot,  Angelifiue,"  said  he  at  length. 
"It  is  a  hard  knot,  mine,  is  it  not,  both  to  tie  and  to  untie  .''  " 

She  looked  at  him.  not  pri'lending  to  understand  any 
meaning  he  might  attach  to  his  words.  "  \'es,  it  is  a  hard 
knot  to  tie,  yours,  IJigot,  and  you  do  not  seem  particularly  to 
thank  me  for  my  service.  Ila\e  you  disco\ered  the  hidden 
place  of  your  fair  fugitive  yet  .^ "  She  said  this  just  as  he 
turned  to  depart.  It  was  the  feminine  postscript  to  their 
inti'rview. 

bigot's  avoidance  of  any  allusion  to  the  death  of  Caroline 


54« 


TIIF,    nOI.DEN    DOf.. 


was  a  terrible  mark  of   suspicion  ;  less  in  reality,  howivcr, 
than  it  seemed. 

Bigot,  although  suspicious,  could  find  no  clue  to  the  rial 
perpetrators  of  the  murder.  He  knew  it  had  not  hten 
Angelique  herself  in  person.  fie  had  never  heard  her 
speak  of  La  Corriveau.  Not  the  smallest  ray  of  light  pt,iiL- 
trated  the  dark  mystery. 

"I  do  not  believe  she  has  left  I»eaumanoir,  lligoi,"  coiitin 
ued  Angelique  ;  "or  if  she  has,  you  know  her  hiding-plai  c. 
Will   you  swear  on  my  book  of  hours  that  you  know  not 
where  she  is  to  be  found  ? "" 

He  looked  fixedly  at  Angeli(.[ue  for  a  moment,  trying  to 
read  her  thoughts,  but  she  had  rehearsed  her  part  loo  ottfti 
and  too  well  to  look  pale  or  confused.  She  felt  her  eyebrow 
twitch,  but  she  jiressed  it  with  her  finger.s,  believing  IJigoi 
did  not  observe  it,  but  he  did. 

"  I  will  swear  and  curse  both,  if  you  wish  it,  Angeliciuc," 
replied  he.     "  Which  shall  it  be  ?  " 

"Well,  do  both, — swear  at  me  and  curse  the  day  that  1 
banished  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  for  your  sake,  l^'ranrois 
liigot !     If  the  lady  be  gone,  where  is  your  promise  ?  " 

Bigot  burst  into  a  wild  laugh,  as  was  his  wont  when  liaid 
pressed.  He  had  not,  to  be  sure,  made  any  definite  promise 
to  Angeliciue,  but  he  had  flattered  her  with  hopes  of  mar 
riage  never  intended  to  be  realized, 

"  I  keep  my  promises  to  ladies  as  if  I  had  sworn  l)y  St. 
Dorothy,"  replied  he. 

"  But  your  promise  to  me.  Bigot !  Will  you  keep  it,  or  do 
worse  ?  "  asked  she,  impatiently. 

"Keep  it  or  do  worse!  What  mean  you,  Angelique?" 
He  looked  up  in  genuine  surprise.  This  was  not  the  usual 
tone  of  women  towards  him. 

"I  mean  that  nothing  will  be  better  for  Franrois  bii^ot 
than  to  keep  his  promise,  nor  worse  than  to  break  it.  to 
Angelique  des  Meloises  !  "  replied  she,  with  a  stamp  of  her 
foot,  as  was  her  manner  when  e.xcited. 

She  thought  it  safe  to  u.se  an  implied  threat,  which  at  any 
rate  might  reach  the  thought  that  lay  under  his  heart  like  a 
centipede  under  a  stone  which  some  chance  foot  turns  over. 

lUit  Bigot  minded  not  the  implied  threat.  He  was  im- 
movable in    the   direction    she    wished    him   to  move,     lie 


A    DRAWN    riAME. 


549 


ility,  howi'vtr. 


:1  sworn  l)v  Si. 


I  keep  it,  or  do 


understood  lier  allusion,  hut  would  not  appear  to  understand 
It.  lest  worse  than  she  meant  should  come  of  it. 

■•  Torsive  me,  An«;cli(|ue  !"  said  he,  with  a  sudden  chantje 
from  frigirlity  to  fondness,  "  I  am  not  unmindful  of  my 
liroMUses  ;  there  is  ncHhin*^  better  to  myself  than  to  keep 
ihcm,  nothing  worse  than  to  break  them.  IJeaumanoir  is 
now  without  reproach,  and  you  can  visit  it  without  fear  of 
aiinht  but  the  ghosts  in  the  i^allery." 

.\n<j;elique  feared  no  ghosts,  but  she  did  fear  that  the 
Inlendant's  words  implied  a  su^^gestion  of  one  which  might 
h.uint  it  for  the  future,  if  there  were  any  truth  in  tales. 

••  Mow  can  you  warrant  that,  lligot  ?"  asked  she  dul)iously. 

"  because  I'ierre  I'hilibert  and  La  ("orne  St.  Luc  have  been 
with  the  King's  warrant  and  .searched  the  Chateau  from  crypt 
to  attic,  without  linding  a  trace  of  your  rival." 

"What,  Chevalier,  searched  the  Chateau  of  the  Intend- 
m  ? " 

"  /'(rr  hleu  !  yes,  I  insisted  upon  their  doing  so;  not,  how- 
ever, till  they  had  gone  through  the  Castle  of  St.  Loui-s. 
riiey  apologized  to  me  for  finding  nothing.  What  did  they 
expect  to  find,  think  you  ?  " 

"  The  lady,  to  be  sure  !  Oh,  I>igot,"  continued  she,  tapping 
him  with  her  fan,  "if  they  would  send  a  commission  of 
witiiien  to  search  for  her,  the  .secret  could  not  remain   hid." 

"No,  truly,  Angeliciue  !  If  you  were  on  sucii  a  commis- 
sion to  search  for  the  .secret  of  her." 

"Well,  Higot,  I  would  never  betray  it,  if  I  knew  it," 
mswered  she,  promptly. 

"  Vou  swear  to  that,  Angelic|ue  .-^ "  asked  he,  looking  full 
111  her  eyes,  which  did  not  tlinch  under  his  gaze, 

"  Ves :  on  my  book  of  hours,  as  you  did  ! "  said  she. 

"Well,  there  is  my  hand  upon  it,  Angelique.  I  have 
no  secret  to  tell  respecting  her.  She  has  gone,  I  cannot 
U'll  jo/iithcyr 

\ngeliciue  gave  him  her  hand  on  the  lie.  She  knew  he 
u;is  Inlaying  with  her,  as  she  with  him,  a  game  of  mutual 
deception,  which  both  knew  to  be  such.  And  yet  they 
imist.  circumstanced  as  they  wt'rc.  play  it  out  to  the  end, 
which  end,  she  hoj)ed,  would  be  her  marriage  with  this 
arih-deceiver.  A  breach  of  their  alliance  was  as  dangerous 
as  It  would  be  unprofitable  to  both. 


550 


thp:  golden   dog. 


Bigot   rose  to  depart  with  an  air  of  gay  regret  at  leav 
ing  the  company  of  Angt"li(|ue  to  make  room  for  De  I'ean. 
"who,"  he  said,  '"would  pull   every  hair  out  of  his  horses 
mane  if  he  waited  much  longer." 

"Your  visit  is  no  pleasure  to  you,  IJigot."  said  shr. 
looking  hard  at  him.  '•  Vow  are  discontented  with  nir. 
and  would  rather  go  than  stay  ! " 

"Well,  .Angclicpie.  I  am  a  dissatisfied  man  to-day.  'I'lic 
mysterious  disappearance  of  that  girl  from  ncaiunaiioir  i> 
the  cause  of  my  tliscontent.  The  tlefiant  hoklness  ot  the 
iJourgL'ois  IMiilihert  is  another  1  have  heard  to-dav  that 
the  IJourgfois  has  chartered  every  ship  that  is  to  sail  to 
France  during  the  remainder  of  the  autumn.  These  things 
are  provoking  enough,  but  they  drive  me  for  consolation  lo 
you.  J  hit  fi>r  you  I  shoukl  shut  myself  up  in  IJeaumanoir, 
and  let  every  thing  go  helter-skelter  to  the  devil." 

"You  only  Hatter  me  and  do  not  mean  it!"  said  she. 
as  he  took  her  hand  with  an  over-empressement  as  percejit- 
ible  to  her  as  was  his  occasional  coldness. 

"  l]y  all  the  saints  !  I  mean  it,"  said  he.  Hut  he  did  not 
deceive  her.  His  professions  were  not  all  true,  but  how  far 
they  were  true  was  a  question  that  again  and  again  tor- 
mented her,  and  set  her  bosom  palpitating  as  he  left  her 
room  with  his  usual  courteous  salute. 

"  He  suspects  me  1  He  more  than  suspects  me  ! "  said  she 
to  herself  as  IJigot  passed  out  of  the  mansion  and  mounted 
his  horse  to  ride  off.  "  He  would  speak  out  i)lainer  it 
he  dared  avow  that  that  woman  was  in  truth  the  niissinii, 
Caroline  de  St.  Castin  !"  thought  she  with  savage  bitternes>. 

"  I  have  a  bit  in  vour  mouth  there,  Francois  iJigol,  thai 
will  forever  hold  you  in  check.  That  missing  demoiselle. 
no  one  knows  as  you  do  where  she  is.  I  would  give  aw  i\ 
every  jewel  I  own  to  know  what  you  did  with  the  pwwy 
piece  of  mortality  left  on  your  hands  by  La  Corriveau." 

Thus  solilotiui/ed  Angeliciue  for  a  few  moments,  lookiiiii; 
gloomy  and  beautiful  as  Medea,  when  the  step  of  De  IV-an 
soundeil  up  the  broad  stair. 

With  a  sudden  transformation,  as  if  touched  by  a  magic 
wand,  Angeliciue  sprang  forward,  all  smiles  and  fascinations 
to  greet  his  entrance. 

The    Chevalier   de    Pean    had    long    made    distant    and 


A    DRAWN    (JAMK. 


551 


egret  at   Kmx 
lor   l)e  I 'can. 
of  his  h()rsL'"s 

)t."    said    sh>-. 
ted    with    iiif. 

to-flay.  'I'lu' 
Ueauinanoir  i^ 
)klliess  ot  the 
rd  t()-ila\  lluil 
:  is  to  .sail  to 
Tliese  things 
consolation  t(» 
n  IJeaunianoir, 
11." 

it  !  "  said  slu'. 
int  as  percc])!- 

iut  he  did  not 
le,  but  how  far 
ind  ai^ain  lor 
as  he  left   her 

tne  ! '"  said  sIk 

and  mounted 

out    plainer   il 

h  tiie  niissiuL:, 

a<:;e  bitterness. 

ois   l)i,u,-ot,  thai 

iv^  denioiseilf. 

uild  i;ive  a\\a\ 

ith   the  pretty 

orriveau.'" 

inents,  looking 

p  of   l)e  I'ean 


timid  pretensions  to  her  favor,  but  he  had  been  overborne 
by  a  dozen  rivals.  He  was  incapable  of  love  in  any 
honest  sense;  but  he  had  immense  vanity.  He  had  been 
barely  noticed  among  the  crowd  of  .\ngeli(|ue's  admirers. 
•  He  was  only  food  for  powder,"  she  had  laughingly  re- 
marked upon  one  occasion,  when  a  duel  on  her  account 
seemed  to  be  impending  between  I)e  Tean  and  the  young 
(aptain  de  Tours;  and  beyond  doubt  Angelique  would 
iiave  been  far  prouder  of  him  shot  for  her  sake  in  a  duel 
tban  she  was  of  his  living  attentions. 

She  was  not  sorry,  however,  that  he  came  in  to-day  after 
the  departure  of  the  Intendant.  It  kept  her  from  her  own 
thoughts,  which  were  bitter  enough  when  alone.  Moreover, 
she  never  tired  of  any  amount  of  homage  and  admiration, 
come  from  what  quarter  it  would. 

De  Fean  stayed  long  with  Angelique.  How  far  he 
opened  the  details  of  the  plot  to  create  a  riot  in  the 
market-place  that  afternoon  can  only  be  conjectured  by 
the  fact  of  her  agreeing  to  ride  out  at  the  hour  designated, 
which  she  warmly  consented  to  do  as  soon  as  De  Pean 
informed  her  that  Le  Gardeur  would  be  there  and  might 
be  e.xpected  to  have  a  hand  in  the  tumult  raised  against 
the  (Jolden  Dog.  The  conference  over,  Ange'lique  speedily 
dismissed  De  Pean.  She  was  in  no  mood  for  flirtation 
with  him.  Her  mind  was  taken  up  with  the  possibility  of 
danger  to  Le  Gardeur  in  this  plot,  which  she  saw  clearly 
was  the  work  of  others,  and  not  of  himself,  although  he 
was  expected  to  be  a  chief  actor  in  it. 


ed  by  a  maj^ic 
id  fascinations 


e    distant    and 


CHAPTER   XLVIII. 


"  IN    GOLD    CLASl'S    LOCKS    IN    THK    OOLDEN    STORY." 


LOVE  is  like  a  bri^rht  river  when  it  springs  from  the 
fresh  fountains  of  the  heart.  It  flows  on  between  fair 
and  ever-widening  banks  until  it  reaches  the  ocean  of 
eternity  and  happiness. 

'I'he  days  illuminated  with  the  brightest  sunshine  are 
those  which  smile  over  the  heads  of  a  loving  pair  whu 
have  found  each  other,  and  with  tender  confessions  and 
mutual  avowals  plighted  their  troth  and  prepared  their  little 
bark  for  sailing  together  down  the  changeful  stream  of  time. 

So  it  had  been  through  the  long  Indian  summer  days 
with  Pierre  Philibert  and  Ame'lie  de  Repentigny.  Since 
the  blessed  hour  they  plighted  their  troth  in  the  evening; 
twilight  upon  the  shore  of  the  little  lake  of  Tilly,  they  had 
showed  to  each  other,  in  the  heart's  confessional,  the 
treasures  of  true  human  affection,  holy  in  the  e}'es  of  God 
and  man. 

When  Amelie  gave  her  love  to  Pierre,  she  gave  it  utterly 
and  without  a  scruple  of  reservation.  It  was  so  easy  to 
love  Pierre,  so  impossible  not  to  love  him ;  nay,  she  re- 
membered not  the  time  it  was  otherwise,  or  when  he  had 
not  been  first  and  last  in  her  secret  thoughts  as  he  was  now 
in  her  chaste  confessions,  although  whispered  so  low  that 
her  approving  angel  hardly  caught  the  sound  as  it  passed 
into  the  ear  of  Pierre  Philibert. 

A  warm,  soft  wind  blew  gently  down  the  little  valley  of 
the  Lairet,  which  wound  and  rippled  over  its  glossy  brown 
pebbles,  murmuring  a  quiet  song  down  in  its  hollow  bed. 
Tufts  of  spiry  grass  clung  to  its  steep  banks,  and  a  few 
wild  flowers  peeped  out  of  nooks  among  the  sere  fallen 
leaves  that  lay  upon  the  still  greensward  on  each  shore  of 
the  little  ilvulet. 

Pierre  and  Amt'lie  had  been  tempted  by  the  beauty  of  the 

552 


IN    ti()LI>    CI.ASPS. 


553 


N    STORY. 


e  beauty  of  the 


Indian  summer  to  dismount  and  send  their  horses  forward  to 
the  city  in  charge  of  a  servant  while  they  walked  home  by 
way  of  the  fields  to  gather  the  last  flowers  of  autumn,  which 
Ainelie  said  lingered  longest  in  the  deep  swales  of  the  Lairet. 

A  walk  in  the  golden  sunshine  with  Amelie  alone  amid 
the  quiet  fields,  free  to  speak  his  love,  and  she  to  hear  him 
.\nd  be  glad,  was  a  i)leasure  I'ierre  had  dreamt  of  but  never 
enjoyed  since  the  blessed  night  when  they  plighted  their 
troth  to  each  other  by  the  lake  of  Tilly. 

The  betrothal  of  Pierre  and  Amelie  had  been  accepted 
bv  their  friends  on  both  sides  as  a  most  fitting  and  desirable 
match,  but  the  manners  of  the  age  with  respect  to  the  un- 
married did  not  admit  of  that  freedom  in  society  which 
prevails  at  the  present  day. 

They  had  seldom  met  save  in  the  presence  of  others,  and 
except  for  a  few  chance  but  blissful  moments,  Pierre  had 
not  been  favored  with  the  company  all  to  himself  of  his 
betrothed. 

Amelie  was  not  unmindful  of  that  when  she  gave  a  will- 
ing consent  to-day  to  walk  with  him  along  the  banks  of  the 
Lairet,  under  the  shady  elms,  birches,  and  old  thorns  that 
overhung  the  path  by  the  little  stream. 

"Pierre,"  said  she  smiling,  "our  horses  are  gone  and  I 
must  now  walk  home  with  you,  right  or  wrong.  My  old 
mistress  in  the  Convent  would  shake  her  head  if  she  heard 
of  it,  but  I  care  not  who  blames  me  to-day,  if  you  do  not, 
Pierre  !  " 

"  Who  can  blame  you,  darling  ?  What  you  do  is  ever 
wisest  and  best  in  my  eyes,  except  one  thing,  which  I  will 
confess  now  that  you  are  my  own,  I  cannot  account  for — ^" 

"  1  had  hoped,  Pierre,  there  was  no  exception  to  your 
admiration  ;  you  are  taking  off  my  angel's  wings  already, 
and  leaving  me  a  mere  woman  !  "  replied  she  merrily. 

"It  is  a  woman  I  want  you  to  be,  darling,  a  woman  not 
faultless,  but  human  as  myself,  a  wife  to  hold  to  me  and 
love  me  despite  my  faults,  not  an  angel  too  bright  and  too 
perfect  to  be  my  other  self." 

"  Dear  Pierre,"  said  she,  pressing  his  arm,  "  I  will  be  that 
woman  to  you,  full  enough  of  faults  to  satisfy  you.  An 
angel  I  am  not  and  cannot  be,  nor  wish  to  be  until  we  go 
together  to  the  spirit-land.     1  am  so  glad  1  have  a  fault  for 


554 


THE    GOLDKN    DOG. 


which  you  can  blame  iiie,  if  it  makes  you  love  me  better. 
Indeed  I  own  to  many,  but  what  is  that  one  fault,  I'ierre, 
which  you  cannot  account  for?" 

"  That  you  slKudd  have  taken  a  rough  soldier  like  me. 
Amelie!  'I'hat  one  so  fair  and  perfect  in  all  the  jjjraces  ol 
womanhood,  with  the  world  to  choose  from,  should  Ikivo 
permitted  Pierre  IMiiliberl  to  win  her  loving  heart  of  hearts." 

Ame'lie  looked  at  him  with  a  fond  expression  of  reproach. 
"Does  that  surprise  you,  I'ierre?  You  rough  soldier,  you 
little  know,  and  I  will  not  tell  you,  the  way  to  a  woman\ 
heart ;  but  for  one  blindfolded  by  .so  much  ditVulence  to  iiis 
own  merits,  you  ha\  e  found  the  way  very  easily  !  Was  it  tor 
loving  you  that  you  blamed  me?  What  if  I  should  recall 
the  fault  ?  "  added  she,  laughing. 

I'ierre  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips,  kissing  devotedly  the 
ring  he  had  placed  upon  her  linger.  "  I  have  no  fear  of  that. 
Amelie  !  The  wonder  to  me  is  that  you  could  think  me 
worthy  of  the  priceless  trust  of  your  happiness, 

"  And  the  wonder  to  me,"  replied  she,  "  is  that  your  dear 
heart  ever  burdened  it.self  with  my  happiness.  I  am  weak 
in  myself,  and  only  strong  in  my  resolution  to  be  all  a  loving 
wife  should  be  to  you,  my  Pierre  !  You  wonder  how  vou 
gained  my  love  ?  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  You  never  gained  it ;  it 
was  always  yours,  before  you  formed  a  thought  to  win  it ! 
You  are  now  my  betrothed,  Pierre  Philibert,  soon  to  be  my 
liusband ;  I  would  not  exchange  my  fortune  to  become  the 
proudest  ciueen  that  ever  sat  on  the  throne  of  France." 

Amelie  was  very  happy  to-day.  The  half-stolen  delight 
of  walking  by  the  side  of  Pierre  Philibert  was  enhanced  by 
the  hope  that  the  fatal  spell  that  bound  Le  Gardeur  to  the 
Palace  had  been  broken,  and  he  would  yet  return  home,  a 
new  man. 

Le  Gardeur  had  only  yesterday,  in  a  moment  of  recollec- 
tion of  himself  and  of  his  sister,  addressed  a  note  to  Amelie, 
asking  pardon  for  his  recent  neglect  of  home,  and  promising 
to  come  and  see  them  on  St.  Martin's  day. 

He  had  heard  of  her  betrothal  to  Pierre.  It  was  the 
gladdest  news,  he  said,  that  had  ever  come  to  him  in  hi> 
life.  He  sent  a  brother's  blessing  upon  them  both,  and 
claimed  the  privilege  of  giving  away  her  hand  to  the  noblest 
man  in  New  France,  Pierre  i*hilibert. 


"IN    GOI.I)    CLASPS. 


555 


Amclie  showed  the  jircrious  note  to  Pierre.  It  only 
needed  that  to  complete  their  happiness  for  the  day.  I'he 
one  cloud  that  had  oversjiadowed  their  joy  in  tiieir  ap- 
pioachini;  nuptials  was  i)assinj;  away,  and  Ainelie  was 
l)rouder  in  the  anticipation  that  Le  (lardeur,  restored  to 
himself,  sober,  and  in  his  rii;ht  mintl,  was  to  l)e  present  at 
her  wctldini;  and  j^ive  her  away,  than  if  the  whole  Court  of 
I'lance,  with  thousands  of  admiring  spectators,  were  to  pay 
her  royal  honors. 

They  sauntered  on  towards  a  turn  lA  the  stream  where  a 
little  pool  lay  embayed  like  a  smooth  mirror  retlectinj;  the 
grassy  bank.  Amclie  sat  down  under  a  tree  while  I'ierre 
crossed  over  the  brook  to  gather  on  the  opposite  side  st)me 
tlowers  which  had  caught  her  eye. 

"Tell  me  which,  Amclie!"  exclaimed  he.  "for  thev  are 
are  all  yours  ;  you  are  Flora's  heiress,  with  right  to  enter 
into  possession  of  her  whole  kingdom  I  " 

"  'I'he  water-lilies,  Pierre,  those,  and  those,  and  those ; 
they  are  to  deck  the  shrine  of  Notre  Dame  des  Victoires. 
Aunt  has  a  vow  there,  and  to-morrow  it  must  be  paid  ;  1 
too." 

He  looked  uj)  at  her  with  eyes  of  admiration,  "  A  vow  ! 
Let  me  share  in  its  payment.  Amelie,"  said  he. 

"  Vou  may,  but  you  shall  not  ask  me  what  it  is.  There 
now,  do  not  wet  yourself  further  !  Vou  have  gathered  more 
lilies  than  we  can  carry  home." 

"  Jkit  I  have  my  own  thank-offering  to  make  to  Notre 
Dame  des  Victoires,  for  I  think  I  love  God  even  better  for 
\()ur  sake,  Amelie." 

"  Fie,  Pierre,  say  not  that !  and  yet  I  know  what  you  mean. 
1  ought  to  reprove  you,  but  fc^r  your  penance  ytm  shall 
gather  more  lilies,  for  1  fear  you  need  many  prayers  and 
offerings  to  expiate,  —"she  hesitated  to  finish  the  sentence. 

"  My  idolatry,  Amelie,"  said  he,  completing  her  meaning. 

"  I  doubt  it  is  little  better,  Pic'rre,  if  you  love  me  as  you 
say.  Put  you  shall  join  in  my  olTering,  and  that  will  do 
lor  both.  I'lease  i)ull  that  one  bunch  of  lilies  antl  no  more, 
or  Our  Lad v  of  Victor\-  will  iudge  vou  harder  than  1  do." 

Pierre  stepped  from  stone  to  stone  over  the  gentle  Ijrook, 
i:;athering  the  golden  lilies,  while  Amelie  clasped  her  hands 
and  silently  thanked  God  for  this  happy  hour  of  her  life. 


556 


THE  GOLDEN  DOG. 


She  hardly  dared  trust  herself  to  look  at  Pierre  except  bv 
furtive  glances  of  pride  and  affection  ;  but  as  his  form  and 
features  were  reliected  in  a  shadow  of  manly  beauty  in  the 
still  pool,  she  withdrew  not  her  loving  gaze  from  his  shadow, 
and  leaning  forward  towards  his  image, 

"  A  thousand  times  she  kissed  him  in  the  brook, 
Across  the  flowers  with  bashful  eyelids  down  !  " 

Amelie  had  royally  given  her  love  to  Pierre  Philiberl. 
She  had  given  it  without  stint  or  measure,  and  with  a  depth 
and  strength  of  devotion  of  which  more  facile  natures  know 
nothing. 

Pierre,  with  his  burden  of  golden  lilies,  came  back  over  the 
brook  and  seated  himself  beside  her  ;  his  arm  encircled  her, 
and  she  held  his  hand  firmly  clasped  in  both  of  hers. 

"Amelie,"  said  he,  "  I  believe  now  in  the  power  of  fate  to 
remove  mountains  of  difficulty  and  cast  them  into  the  sea. 
How  often,  while  watchinir  the  stars  wheel  silentlv  over  nu 
head  as  1  lay  pillowed  on  a  stone,  while  my  comrades  slum- 
bered round  the  camp-fires,  have  1  repeated  my  prayer  for 
Amelie  de  Repentigny  !  I  had  no  right  to  indulge  a  hope 
of  winning  your  love  ;  I  was  but  a  rough  soldier,  very  prac- 
tical, and  not  at  all  imaginative.  '  She  would  see  nothing  in 
me,'  I  sn.id  ;  and  still  1  would  not  have  given  up  my  h()])e 
for  a  kingdom." 

"  It  was  not  so  hard,  after  all,  to  win  wdiat  was  already 
yours,  Pierre,  was  it?"  said  she  with  a  smile  and  a  look  ot 
unutterable  sweetness;  "but  it  was  well  you  asked,  fdi 
without  asking  you  would  be  like  one  pussessing  a  treasiiir 
of  gold  in  his  field  without  knowing  it,  although  it  was  all 
the  while  there  and  all  his  own.  Put  not  a  grain  of  it  would 
you  have  found  without  asking  me,  Pierre  !  " 

"  Put  having  found  it  I  shall  never  lose  it  again,  darling  !" 
replied  he,  pressing  her  to  his  bosom. 

"  Never,  Pierre,  it  is  yours  forever  !  "  replied  she,  Ium 
voice  trembling  with  emotion.  "  Lose  is,  I  think,  llir 
treasure  in  heaven  which  rusts  not,  and  which  no  thief  can 
steal." 

"  Amelie,"  said  he  after  a  few  minutes'  silence,  "  some  say 
men's  lives  are  counted  n(H  by  hours  but  by  the  succession 
of  ideas  and  emotions.     If  it  be  so,  I  have  lived  a  century 


♦*  IN    GOLD    CLASPS. 


557 


r;iin  of  it  would 


j^a'm,  diirlini;  ! "' 


nee,  "  some  say 


of  happiness  with  you  this  afternoon,  I  am  old  in  love, 
Amelie!" 

"  Nay,  I  would  not  have  you  old  in  love,  Pierre  !  Love  is 
the  perennial  youth  of  the  soul.  Grand'mere  St.  Pierre, 
who  has  been  fifty  years  an  lirsuline,  and  has  now  the 
visions  which  are  promised  to  the  old  in  the  latter  days, 
iclls  me  that  in  heaven  those  who  love  (]od  and  one  another 
(jrow  ever  more  youthful ;  the  older  the  more  lieautiful  !  Is 
not  that  better  than  the  philosophers  teach,  Pierre  .-'  " 

He  drew  her  closer,  and  Amelie  permitted  him  to  impress 
a  kiss  on  each  eyelid  as  she  closed  it ;  suddenly  she  started 
up. 

"  Pierre,"  said  she,  "  you  said  you  were  a  soldier  and  so 
practical.  I  feel  shame  to  myself  for  being  so  imaginative 
and  so  silly.  I  too  would  be  practical  if  I  knew  how. 
This  was  to  be  a  day  of  business  with  us,  was  it  not, 
Pierre  ?  " 

"  And  is  it  not  a  day  of  business,  Amelie  ?  or  are  we 
spending  it  like  holiday  children,  wholly  on  pleasure  ?  Rut 
after  all,  love  is  the  business  of  life,  and  life  is  the  business 
of  eternity,  —  we  are  transacting  it  to-day,  Amelie  !  I  never 
was  so  seriously  engaged  as  at  this  moment,  nor  you  either, 
darling  ;  tell  the  truth  !  " 

Amelie  pressed  her  iiands  in  his.  "  Never,  l*ierre,  and  yet 
1  cannot  see  the  old  brown  woods  of  Belmont  rising  yonder 
upon  the  slopes  of  St.  Foye  without  remembering  my  prom- 
ise, not  two  hours  old,  to  talk  with  you  to-day  about  the  dear 
old  mansion." 

*'  That  is  to  be  the  nest  of  as  happy  a  pair  of  lovers  as 
e\er  went  to  housekeeping  ;  and  I  jiromised  to  keep  soberly 
bv  your  sitle  as  I  am  doing,"  said  he,  mischievously  twitch- 
ing a  stray  lock  of  her  dark  hair,  "  and  talk  with  you  on  the 
pretty  banks  of  tiie  Lairet  about  the  old  mansion." 

"  Ves,  Pierre,  that  was  your  promise,  if  1  would  w.ilk  this 
\v;\v  with  vou.     Where  .ve  shall  we  begin  .-'  " 

"  Mere,  Ame'lie,"  replied  he,  kissing  her  fondly  ;  "  now  the 
congress  is  opened  !  1  am  your  slave  of  the  wonderful 
lamp,  ready  to  set  up  and  pull  down  the  world  at  your 
bidiling.  The  old  mansion  is  your  own.  It  shall  have  no 
iL'st  until  it  becomes,  within  and  without,  a  mir  ror  of  the  ])er- 
fcct  taste  and  fancy  of  its  lawful  mistress." 


558 


THE  GOLDEN  DOG. 


"  Not  yet,  Pierre,  I  will  not  let  you  divert  me  from  iny 
purpose  by  your  flatteries.  The  clear  old  home  is  pc  rfcci, 
but  1  must  have  the  best  suite  of  rooms  in  it  for  your  nohle 
father,  and  the  next  best  for  good  Dame  Rochelle.  1  will 
fit  them  up  on  a  plan  of  my  own,  and  none  shall  say  me  n,i\  , 
that  is  all  the  change  I  shall  make." 

"Is  that  all  ?  and  you  tried  to  frighten  the  slave  of  ilit; 
lamp  with  the  weight  of  your  conuuands.  A  suite  of  rooms 
for  my  father,  and  one  for  good  Dame  Rochelle!  Really, 
and  what  do  you  devote  to  me,  Amelie?" 

"Oh,  all  the  rest,  with  its  mistress  included,  for  the  reason 
that  what  is  good  enough  for  me  is  good  enough  for  you, 
I'ierre,"  said  she  gaily. 

"  You  little  economist !  Why,  one  would  say  you  had  stud 
led  housekeeping  under  Madame  I'ainchaud." 

"  And  so  I  have.  You  do  not  know  what  a  treasure  I  am, 
Pierre,"  said  she,  laughing  merrily.  "  I  graduated  under 
nu's  tallies  in  the  kitchen  of  the  Ursulines,  and  received  an 
(iccessit  as  bonne  nicna^i're  which  in  secret  1  prize  more  tii.in 
the  crown  of  honor  they  gave  me. 

"  My  fortune  is  made,  and  1  am  a  rich  man  for  life,"  ex 
claimed  Pierre,  clapping  his  hands;  "why,  I  shall  have  to 
marry  you  like  the  girls  of  Acadia,  with  a  .silver  thiml)le  on 
your  finger  and  a  pair  of  scissors  at  your  girdle,  emblems  oi 
industrious  habits  and  proofs  of  a  good  housewife !  " 

"  Yes,  Pierre,  and  1  will  comb  your  hair  to  my  own  likin<,^ 
Your  valet  is  a  rough  groom,"  said  she,  taking  olY  his  liai 
and  passing  her  finger  through  his  thick,  fair  locks. 

Pierre,  although  always  dressed  and  trimmed  like  a  gen- 
tleman, really  cared  little  for  the  /<  ///  niiutrc  fashions  of  the 
day.  Never  had  he  felt  a  thrill  of  such  exquisite  pleasure  as 
when  Amt'lie's  hands  arranged  his  rough  hair  to  her  fancy. 

"  My  blessed  Amelie  ! "  said  he  with  emotion,  pressin;,^ 
her  finger  to  his  lips,  "  never  since  my  mother  combed  my 
boyish  locks  has  a  woman's  hand  touched  my  hair  uniil 
now." 

Leaning  her  head  fondly  against  the  shoulder  of  I'ierro, 
she  bade  him  repeat  to  her  again,  to  her  who  had  not  ior- 
golten  one  word  or  syllable  of  tiie  tale  he  had  told  her  before, 
the  stt)ry  of  his  love. 

She  listened  with  moistened  eyelids  and  heaving  bosom 


"  IN    GOLD    CLASPS. 


559 


/  you  had  stud 


as  he  told  her  again  of  his  faithfidness  in  the  past,  his  joys 
in  the  present,  and  his  hopes  in  the  future.  She  feared  to 
look  up  lest  she  should  break  the  charm,  but  when  he  had 
ended  she  turned  to  him  passionately  and  kissed  his  lips  and 
his  hands,  murmuring,  "  Thanks,  my  Pierre,  I  will  be  a  true 
and  loving  wife  to  you  !  " 

He  strained  her  to  his  bosom,  and  held  her  fast,  as  if  fear- 
ful to  let  her  go. 

"  Her  image  at  that  last  embrace, 
Ah  !  little  thought  he  'twas  the  last !  " 

Dim  twilight  crept  into  the  valley.  It  was  time  to  return 
home.  Pierre  and  Ame'lie,  full  of  joy  in  each  other,  grateful 
for  the  happiest  day  in  their  lives,  hopeful  of  to-morfow  and 
many  to-morrows  after  it,  and  mercifully  blinded  to  what 
was  really  before  them,  rose  from  their  seat  under  the  great 
spreading  elm.  They  slowly  retraced  the  path  through  ,the 
meadow  leading  to  the  bridge,  and  reentered  the  highway 
which  ran  to  the  city,  where  Pierre  conducted  Amelie  home. 


CHAPTER    XLIX. 


THK    MARKET-I'LACE    ON    ST.    MARTIN  S    DAY. 


THl']  niarkel-phice  then  as  now  occupied  the  open  square 
Ijinj;'  l)et\veen  the  r^reat  Cathech^al  of  Ste.  Marie  and  tlic 
College  of  the  Jesuits.  The  latter,  a  vast  edifice,  occupied 
one  side  of  the  square.  Through  its  wide  portal  a  glinq)se 
was  had  of  the  gardens  and  broad  avenues  of  ancient  trees, 
sacred  to  the  meditation  and  quiet  exercises  of  the  reverend 
fathers,  who  walked  about  in  pairs,  according  to  the  rule  of 
their  order,  which  rarely  permitted  them  to  go  singly. 

The  market-place  itself  was  lively  this  morning  with  the 
number  of  carts  and  stalls  ranged  on  either  side  of  the  bright 
little  rivulet  which  ran  under  the  old  elms  that  intersected  the 
square,  the  trees  affording  shade  and  the  ri'-'ulet  drink  for  man 
and  beast. 

A  bustling,  loquacious  crowd  of  habitans  an  !  citizens, 
wives  and  maid-servants,  were  buying,  selling,  exchanging; 
compliments,  or  complaining  of  hard  times.  The  market- 
place was  full,  and  all  were  glad  at  the  termination  of  the 
terrible  war,  and  hopeful  of  the  happy  effect  of  peace  in 
bringing  plenty  back  again  to  the  old  market. 

The  people  bustled  up  and  down,  testing  their  weak  purses 
against  their  strong  desires  to  fill  their  baskets  with  the  ri|)e 
autumnal  fruits  and  the  products  of  field  and  garden,  ri\er 
and  lurssc  ivnr,  which  lay  temptingly  exposed  in  the  little  carts 
of  the  marketmen  and  women  who  on  every  side  extolled  the 
quality  and  cheapness  of  their  wares. 

There  were  apples  from  the  Cote  dc  Bcaupre,  small  in  si/e 
but  impregnated  with  the  flavor  of  honey;  pears  grown  in 
the  old  orchards  about  Ange  (iardien,  and  grajies  wortii\  ot 
Hacchus,  from  the  Isle  of  Orleans,  with  baskets  of  the  deli 
cious  bilberries  that  cover  the  wild  hills  of  the  north  shore 
from  the  first  wane  of  summer  until  late  in  the  autumn. 

The  drain  of  the  war  had  starved  out  the  butchers'  stalls, 

560 


THK    MAKKI.J'-PLACE    ON    ST.     MARTIN's    DAV.        561 


an  !    citizens, 


small  m  si/o 


hut  Indians  and  hunters  took  their  phices  for  the  nonce  with 
an  abundance  of  game  of  all  kinds,  which  had  multiplied 
exceedingly  during  the  years  that  men  had  taken  to  killing 
Hostonnais  and  Knglish  instead  of  deer  and  wild  turkeys. 

Fish  was  in  especial  aljundance ;  the  blessing  of  the  old 
Jesuits  still  rested  on  the  waters  of  New  France,  and  the  fish 
swarmed  metaphorically  with  money  in  their  mouths. 

There  were  piles  of  speckled  trout  fit  to  be  eaten  by  popes 
and  kings,  taken  in  the  little  pure  lakes  and  streams  tribu- 
tary to  the  Montmorency ;  lordly  salmon  that  swarmed  in 
the  tidal  weirs  along  the  shores  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  and 
huge  eels,  thick  as  the  arm  of  the  fisher  who  drew  them  up 
from  their  rich  river-beds. 

'Fhere  were  sacks  of  meal  ground  in  the  banal  mills  of  the 
seigniories  for  the  people's  bread,  but  the  old  fi/ic/fiS  of  yel- 
low butter,  the  pride  of  the  good  wives  of  IJeauport  and 
Lauzon,  were  rarely  to  be  seen,  and  commanded  uniieard-of 
prices.  The  hungry  children  who  used  to  eat  tartincs  of 
l)read  buttered  on  both  sides  were  now  accustomed  to  the 
cry  of  their  frugal  mother  as  she  spread  it  thin  as  if  it  were 
gold-leaf :  "  Mcs  cufaiits^  take  care  of  the  butter  !  " 

The  Commissaries  of  the  Army,  in  other  words  the  agents 
of  the  (Irand  Company,  had  swept  the  settlements  far  and 
near  of  their  herds,  and  the  habitans  soon  discovered  that 
the  exposure  for  sale  in  the  market  of  the  products  of  the 
dairy  was  speedily  followed  by  a  visit  from  the  purveyors  of 
the  army,  and  the  seizure  of  their  remaining  cattle. 

Roots  and  other  esculents  of  field  and  garden  were  more 
plentiful  in  the  market,  among  which  might  have  been  seen 
the  newly  introduced  potato,  -  a  vegetable  long  despised  in 
New  France,  then  endured,  and  now  beginning  to  be  liked 
and  widely  cultixated  as  a  prime  article  of  sustenance. 

At  the  upper  angle  of  the  scpiare  stood  a  lofty  cross  or 
Holy  Rood,  ()vert()p])ing  the  low  roofs  of  the  shops  and  booths 
in  its  neighborhood.  About  the  foot  of  the  cross  was  a 
platform  of  timber  raised  a  few  feet  from  the  ground,  giving 
a  conunanding  view  of  the  whole  market-place. 

A  crowd  of  habitans  were  gathered  round  this  platform 
listening,  some  with  exclamations  of  approval,  not  unmin- 
gled  on  the  part  of  others  with  sounds  of  dissent,  to  the 
fervent  address  of  one  of  the  Jesuit   I'atheis  from  the  Col- 


562 


Till-:  r.oi.nicN   dog. 


lege,  who  with  crucifix  in  hand  was  preaching  to  the  pe()j)li> 
upon  the  vices  and  backsHdings  of  the  times. 

Father  Ohipion,  the  Superior  of  the  order  in  New  France, 
a  grave,  saturnine  man,  and  several  other  fathers  in  close 
black  cassocks  and  square  caps,  stood  behind  the  preacJRT, 
watching  with  keen  eyes  the  faces  of  the  auditory  as  if  lo 
discover  who  were  for  and  who  were  against  the  sentiments 
and  opinions  promulgated  by  the  preacher. 

The  storm  of  the  great  Jansenist  controversy,  which  rent 
the  Church  of  i-Vance  from  top  to  bottom,  had  not  spared 
the  ("oiony,  where  it  had  early  caused  trouble;  for  that  con 
troversy  grew  out  of  the  Galilean  liberties  of  the  national 
Church  and  the  right  of  national  participation  in  its  admin 
istrations  and  appointments.  The  Jesuits  ever  fiercely  con- 
tested these  liberties;  they  boldly  set  the  tiara  above  the 
crown,  and  strove  to  subordinate  all  opinions  of  faith. 
morals,  education,  and  ecclesiastical  government  to  the  in- 
fallible judgment  of  the  Pope  alone. 

The  Bishop  and  clergy  of  New  b'rance  had  labored  hard 
to  prevent  the  introduction  of  that  mischievous  controversy 
into  the  Colony,  and  had  for  the  most  part  succeeded  in  i)re- 
serving  their  Hocks,  if  not  themselves,  from  its  malign  inllu 
ence.  The  growing  agitation  in  France,  however,  made  ii 
more  difficult  to  keep  down  troublesome  spirits  in  the  Colony, 
and  the  idea  got  abroad,  not  without  some  foundation,  tiial 
the  Society  of  Jesus  h;vd  secret  commercial  relations  with 
the  Friponne.  This  report  fanned  the  smouldering  fires  of 
Jansenism  into  a  flame  visible  enough  and  threatening 
enough   to  the   peace  of  the  Church. 

The  failure  and  bankruptcy  of  Father  Vallette's  enormous 
speculations  in  the  West  Indies  had  filled  l-'rance  with  bad 
debts  and  protested  obligations  which  the  Society  of  Jesus 
repudiated,  but  which  the  Parliament  of  Paris  ordered  them 
to  pay.  The  excitement  was  intense  all  over  the  Kingdom 
and  the  Colonies.  On  the  part  of  the  order  it  became  a 
fight  for  existence. 

They  were  envied  for  their  wealth,  and  feared  for  their  abil- 
ity and  their  power.  The  secular  clergy  were  for  the  most  pail 
against  them.  'I'he  Parliamera  of  Paris,  in  a  violent  decree. 
had  declared  the  Jesuits  to  have  no  legal  standing  in  JMance. 
Voltaire   and    his  followers,   a   growing   host,    thundered   at 


THK    M AkKI/l-l'I.ACl-:    OX    ST.     MARIIN  S     DAY. 


5^>3 


thcni  from  the  one  side  The  Vatican,  in  a  moment  oi  in- 
consistency and  ingratitude,  thundered  at  them  from  the 
other.  They  were  in  the  midst  of  tire,  and  still  their  abilit\- 
and  influence  over  individual  consciences,  and  especially 
over  the  female  sex,  prolonged  their  power  for  fifteen  years 
longer,  when  Louis  XV.,  driven  to  the  wall  by  the  [ansen- 
isls,  issued  his  memorable  decree  declaring  the  Jesuits 
to  be  rebels,  traitors,  and  stirrers  up  of  mischief.  'I'he 
king  confiscated  their  possessions,  proscribed  their  per- 
sons, and  banished  them  from  the  kingdom  as  enemies  of 
the  State. 

l\idre  Monti,  an  Italian  newly  arrived  in  the  Colony,  was 
a  man  very  different  from  the  venerable  Vimont  and  the 
jogues  and  the  Lallements,  who  had  preached  the  Evangel 
lo  the  wild  tribes  of  the  forest,  and  rejoiced  when  they  won 
the  crown  of  martyrdom  for  themselves. 

Monti  was  a  bold  man  in  his  way,  and  ready  to  dare  any 
bold  deed  in  the  interests  of  religion,  which  he  could  not 
dissociate  from  the  interests  of  his  order.  He  stood  u|), 
erect  and  commanding,  upon  the  i)latform  under  the  Holy 
Rood,  while  he  addressed  with  fiery  eloquence  and  Italian 
L;esticulation  the  crowd  of  people  gathered  round  him. 

The  subject  he  chose  was  an  excitiilg  one.  He  enlarged 
upon  the  coming  of  Antichrist  and  u|)on  the  new  philoso- 
phy of  the  age,  the  growth  of  Gallicanism  in  the  Colony, 
with  its  schismatic  progeny  of  Jansenists  and  Ilouucfex  Crcns, 
to  the  discouragement  of  true  religion  and  the  endangering 
of  immortal  souls. 

His  covert  allusions  and  sharp  innuendoes  were  perfectly 
understood  by  his  hearers,  and  signs  of  dissentient  feeling 
were  rife  among  the  crowd.  Still,  the  people  continued  to 
listen,  on  the  whole  respectfully  ;  for,  whatever  might  be  the 
sentiment  tif  Oid  I''rance  with  resjiect  to  the  Jesuits,  they  had 
in  New  j-'rance  inherited  the  profound  respect  of  the  colonists, 
and  deserved  it. 

A  few  gentlemen,  some  in  military,  some  in  fashionable 
civil  attire,  strolled  up  to\\ar(l.•^  the  crowd,  but  stood  some- 
what aloof  and  outside  of  it.  'I'lie  market  ])eopie  pressed 
closei"  and  closer  I'ound  the  platform,  listening  with  mouths 
open  and  eager  eyes  to  the  sermon,  storing  it  away  in  their 
retentive   memories,   wliich   would   reproduce  e\ery   word  of 


564 


THE    (lOI.DKX     DOG, 


it  when  they  sat   round   the  fireside   in  the  coming  winter 
evenings. 

One  or  two  Recollets  stood  at  a  modest  distance  from  thr 
crowd,  still  as  statues,  with  their  hands  hid  in  the  sleeves  of 
their  gray  gowns,  shaking  their  heads  a(  the  arguments,  and 
still  more  at  the  invectives  of  the  preacher;  for  the  Recollets 
were  accused,  wrongfully  perhaps,  of  studying  the  five  proj)- 
ositions  of  l*ort  Royal  more  than  beseemed  the  humble  fol 
lowers  of  St.  Francis  to  do,  and  they  either  could  not  or 
would  not  repel  the  accusation. 

"  Padre  Monti  deserves  the  best  thanks  of  the  Intendant 
for  this  sermon,"  remarked  the  Sieur  d'Kstebe  to  Le  Merc  ier, 
who  accompanied  him. 

"And  the  worst  thanks  of  His  Excellency  the  Count!  Ii 
was  bold  of  the  Italian  to  beard  the  Governor  in  that  man 
ner  !  liut  La  Galissoniere  is  too  great  a  philosopher  to  mind 
a  priest !  "  was  the  half-scofBng  reply  of  Le  Mercier. 

"  Ls  he?  I  do  not  think  so,  Le  Mercier.  I  hate  them 
myself,  but  egad !  I  am  not  philosophic  enough  to  let  then) 
know  it.  One  may  do  so  in  Paris,  but  not  in  New  France, 
besides,  the  Jesuits  are  just  now  our  fast  friends,  and  it  does 
not  do  to  quarrel  with  your  supporters.'' 

"True,  D'Fstebe!  We  get  no  help  from  the  Recollets. 
Look  yonder  at  Brothers  Ambrose  and  Daniel!  They 
would  like  to  tie  Padre  Monti  neck  and  heels  with  the  cords 
of  St.  Francis,  and  bind  him  over  to  keep  the  peace  towards 
Port  Royal ;  but  the  gray  gowns  are  afraid  of  the  black 
robes.  Padre  Monti  knew  they  would  not  catch  the  ball 
when  he  threw  it.  The  Recollets  are  all  afraid  to  hurl  it 
back." 

"  Not  all,"  was  the  reply ;  "  the  Reverend  Father  de 
Berey  would  have  thrown  it  back  with  a  vengeance.  But  I 
confess,  Le  Mercier,  the  Padre  is  a  bold  fellow  to  pitch  into 
the  Ifoniietcs  Gciis  the  way  he  does.  I  did  not  think  he 
would  have  ventured  upon  it  here  in  the  market,  in  face  o! 
.so  many  habitans,  who  swear  by  the  Bourgeois  Philibert." 

The  bold  denunciations  by  the  preacher  against  the 
Hotinctcx  Gchs  and  against  the  people's  friend  and  pro- 
tector, the  Bourgeois  Philibert,  caused  a  commotion  in  the 
crowd  of  habitans,  who  began  to  utter  louder  and  louder 
exclamations    of    dissent    and    remonstrance.     A    close   ob- 


THE  MAKKKT-PLACK  ON  ST.  MAKTIx's  I)A^  .   565 

server  would  have  noticed  angry  looks  and  clenched  fists  in 
many  parts  of  the  fowd,  pressing  closer  and  closer  round 
the  platform. 

The  signs  of  increasing  tumult  in  the  crowd  did  not  escape 
the  sharp  eyes  of  Father  Glapion,  who,  seeing  that  the  hot- 
blooded  Italian  was  overstepping  the  bounds  of  prudence  in 
his  harangue,  called  him  by  name,  and  with  a  half  angry 
sign  brought  his  sermon  suddenly  to  a  close.  l\ulre  Monti 
obeyed  with  the  unquestioning  pronv  Iness  of  an  automaton. 
Fie  stopped  instantly,  without  rounding  the  period  or  finish- 
ing the  sentence  that  was  in  his  mouth. 

His  flushed  and  ardent  manner  changed  to  the  calmness 
of  marble  as,  lifting  up  his  hands  with  a  devout  on-mus,  he 
uttered  a  l)rief  prayer  and  left  the  puzzled  people  to  finish 
his  speech  and  digest  at  leisure  his  singular  sermon. 


CHAPTER  L. 


(( 


ULESSED    THKY    WHO    DIE    DOINfl    THY    WILL. 


IT  was  the  practice  of  the  IJourgeois  I'hilibert  to  leave  his 
counting-room  to  walk  through  the  market-place,  not  for 
the  sake  of  the  greetings  he  met,  although  he  received  them 
from  every  side,  nor  to  buy  or  sell  on  his  own  account,  h'lt 
to  note  with  quick,  sympathizing  eye  the  poor  and  needy, 
and  to  relieve  their  wants. 

Kspecially  did  he  love  to  meet  the  old,  the  feeble,  the 
widow,  and  the  orphan,  so  numerous  from  the  devastation  (A 
the  long  and  bloody  war. 

The  Hourgeois  had  another  daily  custom  which  he  ob- 
served with  unfailing  regularity.  His  table  in  the  House  of 
the  (lolden  Dog  was  set  every  day  with  twelve  covers  and 
dishes  for  twelve  guests,  -  "  the  twelve  apostles,"  as  he  gayly 
used  to  say,  "  whom  1  love  to  have  dine  with  me,  and  who 
come  to  my  door  in  the  guise  of  poor,  hungry,  and  thirsty 
men,  needing  meat  and  drink.  Strangers  to  be  taken  in, 
and  sick  wanting  a  friend."  If  no  other  guests  came  he  was 
always  sure  of  the  "  apostles  "  to  empty  his  table,  and,  while 
some  simple  dish  sufficed  for  himself,  he  ordered  the  whole 
banquet  to  be  given  away  to  the  poor.  His  choice  wines. 
which  he  scarcely  permitted  himself  to  taste,  were  reinoxetl 
from  his  table  and  sent  to  the  Hotel  Dieu,  the  great  con- 
vent of  the  Nuns  Hospitalieres,  for  the  use  of  the  sick  in 
their  charge,  while  the  Hourgeois  returned  thanks  with  a 
heart  more  content  than  if  kings  had  dined  at  his  table. 

To-day  was  the  day  of  St.  Martin,  the  anniversary  of  the 
death  of  his  wife,  who  still  lived  in  his  memory  fresh  as  upon 
the  day  he  took  her  away  as  his  bride  from  her  Norman 
home.  Upon  every  recurrence  of  that  day,  and  upon  some 
other  special  times  and  holidays,  his  bounty  was  doubled. 
and  the   IJourgeois  made  preparations,  as  he  jocularly  used 

566 


BLESSED    THKV    WHO 


DIE." 


567 


to  say,  "  not  only  for  the  twelve  apostles,  but  for  the  seventy 
disciples  as  well !  " 

He  had  just  dressed  himself  with  scrupulous  neatness  in 
the  fashion  of  a  plain  "gentleman,  as  was  his  wont,  without  a 
irace  of  foppery.  With  his  stout  gold-headed  cane  in  his 
liand,  he  was  descending  the  stairs  to  go  out  as  usual  to  the 
market,  when  Dame  Rochelle  accosted  him  in  the  hall. 

Her  eyes  and  \\h(;le  demeanor  wore  an  expression  of 
deep  anxiety  as  the  good  dame  looked  up  in  the  face  of  the 
Hourgeois. 

"  Do  not  go  to  the  market  to-day,  dear  master  !  "  said  she, 
beseechingly;  "  I  have  been  there  myself  and  have  ordered 
all  we  need  for  the  due  honor  of  the  day."' 

"  Thanks,  good  dame,  for  remembering  the  blessed  anni- 
versary, but  you  know  I  am  expected  in  the  market.  It  is 
one  of  my  special  days.  Who  is  to  fill  the  baskets  of  the 
poor  people  who  feel  a  delicacy  about  coming  for  alms  to  the 
door,  unless  I  go?  Charity  fultills  its  mission  best  when  it 
respects  the  misfortune  of  being  poor  in  the  persons  of  its 
recipients.  I  must  make  my  round  of  the  market,  good 
dame." 

"And  still,  dear  master,  go  not  to-day;  I  never  asked  you 
before  ;   I  do  this  time.      1  fear  some  evil  this  morning  !  " 

The  Bourgeois  looked  at  her  inquiringly.  He  knew  the 
good  dame  too  well  not  to  be  sure  she  had  some  weighty 
reason  for  her  request. 

"  What  particularly  moves  you  to  this  singular  request, 
Dame  Rochelle  .''  "  asked  he. 

"  A  potent  reason,  master,  but  it  would  not  weigh  a  grain 
with  you  as  with  me.  There  is  this  morning  a  wild  spirit 
afloat,  —  people's  minds  have  been  excited  by  a  sermon  from 
one  of  the  college  fathers.  The  friends  of  the  Intendant 
are  gathered  in  force,  they  say,  to  clear  the  market  of  the 
Jfo/nicfc's  Glns.  a  disturbance  is  impending.  That,  mas- 
ter, is  one  reason.  My  other  is  a  presentiment  that  some 
harm  will  befall  you  if  you  go  to  the  market  in  the  midst  of 
such  excitement." 

"Thanks,  good  dame,"  replied  the  Bourgeois  calmly, 
"  both  for  your  information  and  your  presentiment ;  but 
they  only  furnish  an  additional  reason  why  I  should  go  to 
try  to  prevent  any  disturbance  among  my  fellow-citizens." 


568 


THE    CJOLDKN    DOG. 


"  Still,  master,  you  see  not  what  I  see,  and  hear  not 
what  I  hear,  and  would  n(jt  believe  it  did  I  tell  you  I  I 
beseech  you,  go  not  to-day  ! "  exclaimed  she  imploringly, 
clasping  her  hands  in  the  eagerness  of  her  appeal. 

"Good  dame,"  replied  he,  "I  deeply  respect  your  solici- 
tude, but  1  could  not,  without  losing  all  respect  for  myself 
as  a  gentleman,  stay  away  out  of  any  consideration  of  im- 
pending danger.  I  should  esteem  it  my  duty  all  the  more 
to  go,  it  there  be  danger,  which  I  cannot  believe." 

*'  Oh,  that  I'ierre  were  here  to  accompany  you  !  Hut  at 
least  take  some  servants  with  you,  master,"  implored  the 
dame,  persisting  in  her  request. 

"Good  dame,  1  cannot  consult  fear  when  I  have  dulv 
to  perform  ;  besides,  I  am  in  no  danger.  I  have  enemies 
enough,  1  know ;  but  he  would  be  a  bold  man  who  would 
assail  the  Bourgeois  Philibert  in  the  open  market-place  of 
Quebec." 

"  Yet  there  may  be  such  a  bold  man,  master,"  replied 
she.  "  There  are  many  such  men  who  would  consider  they 
did  the  Intendant  and  themselves  good  service  by  com- 
passing your  destruction  !  " 

"  May  be  so,  dame ;  but  I  should  be  a  mark  of  scorn  for 
all  men  if  I  evaded  a  duty,  small  or  great,  through  fear  of 
the  Intendant  or  any  of  his  friends." 

"  1  knew  my  appeal  would  be  in  vain,  master,  but  for- 
give my  anxiety.     God  help  you  !     God  defend  you  !  " 

She  looked  at  him  fixedly  for  a  moment.  He  saw  her 
features  were  quivering  with  emotion  and  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears. 

"Good  dame,"  said  he  kindly,  taking  her  hand.  "I 
respect  your  motives,  and  will  so  far  show  my  regard  for 
your  forecast  of  danger  as  to  take  my  sword,  which,  after  a 
good  conscience,  is  the  best  friend  a  gentleman  can  have  to 
stand  by  him  in  peril.     Please  bring  it  to  me." 

"  Willingly,  master,  and  may  it  be  like  the  sword  of  the 
cherubim,  to  guard  and  protect  you  to-day  ! " 

She  went  into  tlie  great  hall  for  the  rapier  of  the 
Bourgeois,  which  he  only  wore  on  occasions  of  full  dress 
and  ceremony.  He  took  it  smilingly  from  her  hand,  and. 
throwing  the  belt  over  his  shoulder,  bade  Dame  Rochelle 
good-by,  and  proceeded  to  the  market. 


"  liLKSSLD    TllEV    WHO    DIE. 


SCk) 


of  scorn  for 


sword  of  tht 


The  dame  looked  earnestly  after  him  until  he  turned 
tlie  corner  of  the  j^reat  Cathedral,  when,  wiping  her  eyes, 
she  went  into  the  house  and  sat  down  pensively  for  some 
minutes. 

"  Would  that  i^ierre  had  not  gone  to  St.  Ann's  to-day !  " 
cried  she.  "  My  master  !  my  noble,  good  master  !  1  feel 
tliere  is  evil  abroad  for  him  in  the  market  to-day."  She 
turned,  as  was  her  wont  in  time  of  trouble,  to  the  open 
Dible  that  ever  lay  upon  her  table,  and  sought  strength  in 
meditation  upon  its  sacred  pages. 

There  was  much  stir  in  the  market  when  the  Bourgeois 
began  his  accustomed  walk  among  the  stalls,  stopping  to 
converse  with  such  friends  as  he  met,  and  especially  with 
ihe  poor  and  infirm,  who  did  not  follow  him,  —  he  hated  to 
be  followed,  — but  who  stood  waiting  his  arrival  at  certain 
points  which  he  never  failed  to  pass.  The  Bourgeois 
knew  that  his  poor  almsvnen  would  be  standing  there,  and 
he  would  no  more  avoid  them  than  he  would  avoid  the 
(lovernor. 

A  group  of  girls  very  gaily  dressed  loitered  through  the 
market,  purchasing  bouquets  of  the  last  of  autunmal  Howers, 
and  coquetting  with  the  young  men  of  fashion  who  chose 
the  market-place  for  their  morning  promenade,  and  who 
spent  their  smiles  and  wit  freely,  and  sometimes  their  money, 
upon  the  young  ladies  they  expected  to  find  there. 

This  morning  the  Demoiselles  Grandmaison  and  Hebert 
were  cheapening  imiaortelles  and  dry  fiovvers  to  decorate 
tht'ir  winter  vases,  —  a  pleasant  fashion,  not  out  of  date  in 
the  city  at  the  present  day. 

The  attention  of  these  young  ladies  was  quite  as  much 
taken  up  with  the  talk  of  their  cavaliers  as  with  their 
ijargaining  when  a  quick  exclamaticjn  greeted  them  from 
a  lady  on  horseback,  accompanied  by  the  Chevalier  dc 
I'ean.  She  drew  bridle  sharply  in  front  of  the  grouji,  and 
leaning  down  from  her  saddle  gave  her  hand  to  the  ladies, 
bidding  them  good  morning  in  a  cheery  voice  which  there 
was  no  mistaking,  although  her  face  was  invisible  behind 
her  veil.  It  was  Angelique  des  Meloises,  more  gay  and 
more  fascinating  than  ever. 

She  iioticed  two  gentlemen   in  the  group.     "Oh,  pardon 


570 


THE    GULDEN    DOG. 


nie,  Messieurs  Le  Mercier  and  d'Estebe !  "  said  siie,  "  I  did 
not  perceive  you.  My  veil  is  so  in  the  way  !  "  She  pushed 
it  aside  coquettishly,  and  gave  a  finger  to  each  of  the 
gentlemen,  who  returned  her  greeting  with  extreme  poHie- 
ness. 

"Good  morning!  say  you,  Angelique .-"'  exchiimed  Ala- 
demoiselle  Hebert ;  "it  is  a  good  noon.  You  have  slept 
rarely  !     How  bright  and  fresh  you  look,  darling !  " 

"  l)u  I  not!"  laughed  Angclique  in  reply.  "It  is  the 
morning  air  and  a  good  conscience  make  it !  y\re  you 
buying  Howers .''  1  have  been  to  Sillery  for  mine ! "  said 
she,  patting  her  blooming  cheeks  with  the  end  of  hci 
riding-whip.  She  had  no  time  for  further  parley,  for  her 
attention  was  suddenly  directed  by  l)e  Pean  to  some  stir 
upon  the  other  side  of  the  market,  with  an  invitation  to  her 
to  ride  over  and  see  what  was  the  matter.  Angclique  at 
once  wheeled  her  horse  to  accompany  l)e  Pean. 

The  group  of  girls  felt  themselves  eclipsed  and  overborne 
by  the  queenly  airs  of  Angclique,  and  were  glad  when  she 
moved  off,  fearing  that  by  some  adroit  manceuvre  she  woukl 
carry  off  their  cavaliers.  It  needed  but  a  word,  as  they 
knew,  to  draw  them  all  after  her. 

Angelic|ue,  under  the  lead  of  l)e  Pean,  rode  quickly 
towards  the  scene  of  confusion,  where  men  were  gesticula- 
ting fiercely  and  uttering  loud,  angry  words  such  as  usually 
precede  the  drawing  of  swords  and  the  rush  of  combatanis. 

To  her  surprise,  she  recognized  Le  Gardeur  de  Repen- 
tigny,  very  drunk  and  wild  with  anger,  in  the  act  of  leaping 
olT  his  horse  with  oaths  of  vengeance  against  some  one  w  horn 
she  could  not  distinguish  in  the  throng. 

Le  Gardeur  had  just  risen  from  the  gaming-table,  where 
he  luul  been  playing  all  night.  He  was  maddened  with 
drink  and  excited  by  great  losses,  which  in  his  rage  iie 
called  unfair. 

Colonel  St.  Remy  had  rooked  him  at  piquet,  he  said, 
and  refused  him  the  chance  of  an  honorable  gamester  to 
win  back  some  part  of  his  losses.  His  antagonist  had  left 
the  Palace  like  a  sneak,  and  he  was  riding  round  the  city 
to  lind  him,  and  horsewhip  him  if  he  would  not  fight  like  a 
gentleman. 

Le  (»ardeur  was  accompanied  by  the  Sieur  de  Lantagnac, 


"  IJLESSKIJ    THEY    WHO    DIE 


^  »> 


5/1 


•.     "  It  is 

the 

it !     Are 

V()U 

mine  !  " 

said 

end    of 

hci 

)arley,  for 

her 

to  some 

slir 

vitation  to 

lier 

Ans2;cliciue  ;U 

1. 

and  overborne 

j;lad  when 

she 

vre  she  \V(ju1c1 

word,   as 

thev 

who,  by  splendid  dissipation,  had  won  his  whole  confidence. 
Le  Gardeur,  when  drunk,  thought  the  W'orld  did  not  contain 
a  finer  fellow  than  Lantagnac,  whom  he  thoroughly  despised 
when  sober. 

At  a  hint  from  I)e  Pean,  the  Sieur  de  Lantagnac  had 
ching  lo  Le  (lardeur  tliat  morning  like  his  shadow,  had 
(hunk  with  him  again  and  again,  exciting  his  wrath  against 
St.  Remy  ;  Init  appaiently  keeping  liis  own  head  clear  enough 
for  whatever  mischief  De  Pean  iiad  put  int(;  it. 

They  rode  together  to  the  niarket-jjlace,  hearing  that  St. 
Kemy  was  at  the  sermon,  'i'heir  object,  as  Le  Gardeur  be- 
Heved,  was  to  put  an  unpardonable  insult  upon  St.  Remy,  by 
striking  him  with  his  whip  and  forcing  him  to  tight  a  duel 
with  Le  (iardeur  or  his  friend.  The  reckless  De  J^antagnac 
asserted  loudly,  he  "did  not  care  a  straw  which  !  " 

Le  (lardeur  and  De  Lantaguac  rode  furiously  through  the 
market,  heedless  of  what  they  encountered  or  whom  they 
ran  over,  and  were  followed  by  a  yell  of  indignation  from 
the  people,  who  recognized  them  as  gentlemen  of  the  (Jrand 
(Company. 

It  chanced  that  at  that  moment  a  poor  almsman  of  the 
bourgeois  Philibert  was  huml)ly  and  cjuietly  leaning  on  his 
crutches,  listening  with  bowing  head  and  smiling  lips  to 
the  kind  inquiries  of  his  benefactor  as  he  received  his 
accustomed  alms. 

De  Lantagnac  rode  up  furiously,  followed  by  Le  Gardeur. 
De  Lantagnac  recognized  the  iJourgeois,  who  stood  in  his 
way  talking  to  the  crippled  soldier.  He  cursed  him  be- 
tween his  teeth,  and  lashed  his  horse  with  intent  to  ride  him 
tlown  as  if  bv  accident. 

The  I)Ourgeois  saw  them  approach  and  motioned  them  to 
^top,  but  in  vain.  The  horse  of  De  Lantagnac  just  swerved 
in  its  c(nu"se,  and  without  checking  his  si)ee(l  ran  ovt'r  the 
crippled  man,  who  instantly  rolled  in  the  ilust,  his  face 
streaming  with  blood  from  a  sharp  stroke  of  the  horse's 
shoe  upon  his  forehead. 

Immediately  following  De  Lantagnac  came  Le  Gardeur, 
lashing  his  horse  and  yelling  like  a  demon  to  all  to  clear  the 
way. 

The  Bourgeois  was  startled  at  this  new  danger,  not  to  him- 
self,      he  thought  not  of  himself,  -  -  but  to  the  bleeding  man 


572 


THE    GOLDEN    UOG. 


lying   prostrate    upon   the   ground.      He   sprang  forwara   to 
prevent  Le  Gardeur's  horse  going  over  him. 

He  did  not,  in  the  haste  and  confusion  of  the  moment, 
recognize  Le  (Jardeur,  who,  inflamed  with  wine  and  frantic 
with  passion,  was  almost  past  recognition  by  any  who  knew 
him  in  his  normal  state.  Nor  did  Le  Gardeur,  in  his  frenzy, 
recognize  the  presence  of  the  IJourgeois,  whose  voice  calling 
him  by  name,  with  an  appeal  to  his  better  nature,  would 
undoubtedlv  ha\e  checked  his  headlomr  career. 

The  moment  was  critical.  It  was  one  of  those  points  of 
time  where  the  threads  of  many  li\es  and  many  destinies 
cross  and  intersect  each  other,  and  thence  part  different 
ways,  leading  to  life  or  death,  happiness  or  despair,  forever! 

Le  (iardeur  spurred  his  horse  madly  over  the  wounded 
man  who  lay  upon  the  ground ;  but  he  did  not  hear  him,  he 
did  not  see  him.  Let  it  be  said  for  Le  Gardeur,  if  aught 
can  be  said  in  his  defence,  he  did  not  see  liim.  His  horse 
was  just  about  to  trample  upon  the  prostrate  cripple  lying 
in  the  dust,  when  his  bridle  was  suddenly  and  iirmly  seized 
by  the  hand  of  the  IJourgeois,  and  his  horse  wheeled  rouiul 
with  such  \iolence  that,  rearing  back  upon  his  haunches,  he 
almost  threw  his  rider  headlong. 

Le  Gardeur,  not  knowing  the  reason  of  this  sudden  inter- 
ference, and  flaming  with  wrath,  leaped  to  the  ground  just 
at  the  moment  when  Ange'liciue  and  De  Pean  rode  up.  Le 
Gardeur  neither  knew  nor  cared  at  that  moment  who  his 
antagonist  was  ;  he  saw  but  a  bold,  presumptuous  man  wiio 
had  seized  his  bridle,  and  whom  it  was  his  desire  to  punish 
on  the  spot. 

I)e  I'ean  recognized  the  stately  figure  and  fearless  look 
of  the  Hourgeois  confronting  Le  Gardeur.  'Lhe  triumph  ol 
the  Lriponne  was  at  hand.  De  Tean  rubbed  his  hands  wiih 
ecstasy  as  he  called  out  to  Le  Gardeur,  his  voice  ringing 
above  the  din  of  the  crowd,  "' Achcvez-lc !  Finish  him,  Le 
Gardeur  1  " 

Angelique  sat  upon  her  horse  fixed  as  a  .statue  and  as 
pale  as  marble,  not  at  the  danger  of  the  ISourgeois,  whom 
she  at  once  recognized,  but  out  of  fear  for  her  lover,  exposed 
to  the  menaces  of  the  crowd,  who  were  all  on  the  side  of  the 
Dourgeois. 

Le  Gardeur  leaped  down  from  his  horse   and   advanced 


g  forwaro  lo 


voice  calling; 
lature,  would 


lose  points  of 
any  destinies 
part  dilTereni 
ipair,  fore\er ! 
the  wounded 

hear  him,  he 
leur,  if  aughi 
1.      His  horse 

cripple  lyiuii, 

firmly  seized 
heeled  round 

haunches,  he 

sudden  intei- 
ground  just 
rode  up.  Le 
nent  who  his 
ous  man  who 
ke  to  punish 


voice  rni<;in,ii, 
nish  him,  Le 

itatue  and  as 
rgeois,  whom 
over,  exposed 
le  side  of  the 

nd   advanced 


Dl'.AI'll    <»1'     I  Ml',    r,nl'K(ii:(>lS. 


with  : 

l)im  V 

of  a 

lie  ra 

Le   G 

out    0 

upon 

iushe< 

tempt 

innoct 

T.e 

and   li 

passio 

An^ 

crowd 

sion,  t 

those  : 

(Jarde 

struck 

De 

"  Ar 

(lardei 

"N( 

Wit) 

Le  Ga 

should 

f(I    7'OU 

Gardei 
blows, 

It  w 
(Jardei 

Asto 
her  wc 
Gardei 
a  wild 
twisted 
ino-  his 
the  hilt 
ing  thi: 
of  defe 


"  HLESSEIJ    TllEV    WHO    DIE. 


573 


with  a  terrible  imprecation  upon  the  Bourgeois,  and  struck 
him  with  his  whip.  The  brave  old  merchant  had  the  soul 
of  a  marshal  of  France.  His  blood  boiled  at  the  insult ; 
he  raised  his  staff  to  ward  off  a  second  blow  and  struck 
Le  Gardeur  sharply  upon  the  wrist,  making  his  whip  lly 
out  of  his  hand.  Le  Gardeur  instantly  advanced  again 
upon  him,  but  was  pressed  back  by  the  habitans,  wh.o 
rushed  to  the  defence  of  the  Bourgeois.  Then  came  the 
tempter  to  his  ear,  —  a  word  or  two,  and  the  fate  of  many 
innocent  lives  was  decided  in  a  moment ! 

T.e  Gardeur  suddenly  felt  a  hand  laid  upon  his  shoulder, 
and  heard  a  voice,  a  woman's  voice,  speaking  to  him  in 
passionate  tones. 

Angelique  had  forced  her  horse  into  the  thick  of  the 
crowd.  She  was  no  longer  calm,  nor  pale  with  apprehen- 
sion, but  her  face  was  flushed  redder  than  tire,  and  her  eyes, 
those  magnetic  orbs  which  drove  men  mad,  blazed  upon  l.c 
Gardeur  with  all  their  terrible  inikience.  She  had  seen  him 
struck  by  the  Bourgeois,  and  her  anger  was  equal  to  his  own. 

I)e  Pean  saw  the  opportunity. 

"  Angelique,"  exclaimed  he,  *•  the  Bourgeois  .strikes  Le 
Gardeur  !     What  an  outrage!     Can  you  bear  it.-*" 

"  Never  !  "  replied  she  ;  "  neither  shall  Le  Gardeur  !  " 

With  a  plunge  of  her  horse  she  forced  her  way  close  to 
be  Gardeur,  and,  leaning  over  him,  laid  her  hand  upon  his 
shoulder  and  exclaimed  in  a  voice  choking  with  passion,  — 

"  Comment^  Le  Garilcur!  vans  soiiffrcz  (/ii^un  A4alva  comnic 
ca  vous  abhnc  Je  coups,  ct  vans  portez  rcpcc!  "  "What,  Le 
(lardeur!  you  allow  a  ruffian  like  that  to  load  you  with 
blows,  and  you  wear  a  sword  !  " 

It  was  enough !  That  look,  that  word,  would  have  made  Le 
(lardeur  slaughter  his  father  at  that  moment. 

Astonished  at  the  sight  of  .Angelique,  and  maddened  by 
her  words  as  much  as  by  the  blow  he  had  received,  Le 
dardeur  swore  he  would  have  re\enge  upon  the  sjk)!.  With 
a  wild  cry  and  ihe  strength  antl  agility  of  a  panther  he 
twisted  himself  out  of  the  gras])  of  the  habitans,  and  draw 
ing  his  sword,  before  any  man  could  stoj)  him,  thrust  it  to 
the  hilt  through  the  body  of  the  1  bourgeois,  who,  ruA  expect- 
ing this  sudden  assault,  had  not  put  himself  in  an  attitude 
of  defense  to  meet  it. 


574 


iiiK  cioi.ni'.x   noG. 


The  Hour^^cois  foil  dying  l)y  the  side  of  the  bleeding  man 
wlio  had  jnst  receixed  his  alms,  and  in  whose  protection  he 
had  thus  risked  and  lost  liis  own  life. 

"  Eravo,  Le  (Jardeur!"  exchiimed  De  I'ean -,  "that  was 
the  best  stroke  ever  given  in  New  I'rance.  The  (loldeii 
Dog  is  done  for,  and  the  Bourgeois  has  paid  his  deJM  to 
the  Grand  ('ompan\'." 

Le  Gardeur  looked  up  wildly.     "Who  is  he,  De   I'ean?" 


exclanne 


d  h( 


"  What  man  have  1  killed  ? 


"The  Dourgeois  Philil)ert,  who  else  ? "  shouted  De  i'ean 
with  a  tone  of  exultation. 

Le  (iardeur  littered  a  wailing  crv,  "The   ]k)in'geois   I'hili 
bert  I   have  I  slain  the    licjurgeois   I'hiiibert  ?      De   I'ean  iii'.s. 
Angc'lique,"   said    he.   suddenly   turning    to    her.      *'  I    would 
not  kill  a  si:)arrow  belonging  to  the  Bourgeois  Philibert !     Oh. 
tell  me  De  Bean  lies." 

"  De  Bean  does  not  lie,  Le  Gardeur,"  answered  she. 
frightened  at  his  look.  "  'I"he  Bourgeois  struck  you  tirst. 
1  saw  hiui  strike  you  lirst  with  his  staff.  You  are  a  gentle- 
man and  would  kill  the  King  if  he  struck  you  like  a  duu 
with  his  staff.  Look  where  the\-  are  lifting  him  up.  Xou 
see  it  is  the  Bourgeois  and  no  other." 

Le  Gardeur  ga\'e  one  wild  look  and  recognized  the  well- 
known  form  and  features  of  the  Bourgeois.  He  threw  hi^ 
sword  on  the  ground,  exclaiming,  "Oh!  (.)h  !  imhai)py  man 
that  I  am!  It  is  parricide!  parricide!  to  have  slain  tiu' 
fatherof  my  brother  Bierre  !  Oh.  Angeliciue  des  Meloises  ; 
you  made  me  draw  my  sword,  and  1  knew  not  who  it  was 
or  what  I  did  !  " 

1   told  you,   Le  Gardeur,   and   you   are   angry  with    inc. 


1 


iut  see 


lar 


what  a  tumu 


It  i,^ 


itherniLr 


we    must 


out  of  this  throng  or  we  shall   all   be  killed  as  well   as  ilii- 
i^ourgeois.      Fly,  Le  Gardeur,  My!     Go  to  the  Balace  ! '" 

"To  hell  sooner!  Never  shall  the  Balace  see  me  again  !"' 
exclaimed  he  madly.  '• 'I'he  jieopie  shall  kill  me  if  theywiil. 
but  save  yourself,  Angeliciue.  De  Bean,  lead  her  instanll\ 
away  from  this  cursed  spot,  or  all  the  blood  is  not  spill  iliat 


will  b 


e  spilt  to-(la\', 


Th 


us  is  of  your  contriving, 


IK 


cried  he,  looking  savagely,  as  if  about  to  spring  upon  hi 

"  \'ou   would   not  harm   me  or  her,   Le  Gardeur 
rupted  I)e  Bean,  turning  pale  ;it  his  fierce  look. 


ink'i- 


iJLi:ssi:i)    riii:\    who   \u\: 


575 


ecdiii;;  man 
rotection  hr 

;  "that  was 
rhe  C.oklcn 
his   debt  to 

l)e  Fean?" 

ed   De   I'ean 

ir;j;e()is  I'hili 
)e  I'can  lies. 
"  I    would 
nlibcrl!     Oh. 

nswered  she. 
ick  you  hrst. 
are  a  gentle- 
)U  like  a  dou 
liin  up.     \o\\ 

li/ed  the  wvW 
He  threw  hi- 
unhappy  man 
ave  slain  the 
des  Meloisrs  '. 
lot  who  it  wi^s 

|in;ry  with   nic. 

we   must   ,l:i'1 
tis  well   as  ilic 

I'alace!"" 
lee  nie  aLiain  '. 
me  if  they  wiil- 
|l  her  instantly 
not  spill  th-u 

njr,  De  P^an." 

o|  upon  him. 

Tdeur?"   iiil^'- 
Ik. 


"  Harm  her,  yon  fool,  no  I  but  I  will  harm  you  if  you  do 
not  instantly  take  her  away  out  of  this  tumult.  I  must  see 
the  liourgeois.     Oh  (iod,  if  he  be  dead!  " 

A  i;reat  cry  now  ran  throu,2;h  the  market-place  :  "  'I'he 
Ilourgeois  is  killed.  The  Cirand  Company  have  assassi- 
nated the  jjouri^eois."  Men  ran  up  from  every  sitlc  shout- 
ins;  and  gesticulating.  'I'iie  news  spread  like  wild-lire  through 
the  city,  and  simultaneously  a  yell  for  \engeance  rose  from 
the  excited  multitude. 

The  Recollet  iJrothtr  Daniel  had  been  the  first  to  tiy  to 
the  help  of  the  Dourgeois.  His  gray  robe  presently  was  dyed 
ivd  with  the  blood  of  the  best  friend  and  i)rotector  of  their 
monastery.  Hut  death  was  too  cpiick  for  even  one  prayer  to 
l)c  heard  or  uttered  by  the  dying  man. 

The  gray  Brother  made  the  sign  of  tiie  cross  upon  the 
forehead  of  the  bourgeois,  who  opened  his  eyes  once  for  a 
moment,  and  looked  in  the  face  of  the  good  friar  while  his 
lips  quivered  with  two  inarticulate  words,  "  Pierre  !  Amelie  !  " 
That  was  all.  His  brave  eyes  closed  again  forever  from 
the  light  of  the  sun.  The  good  Jjourgeois  Philibert  was 
dead. 

•' '  blessed  are  the  dead  who  die  in  the  Lord,'  "  repeated  the 
Recollet.  "  '  Kvnn  so,  saith  the  Spirit,  for  they  rest  from 
their  labors.'  "' 

De  Pean  had  foreseen  the  likelihood  of  a  popular  com- 
motion. He  was  ready  to  tly  on  the  instant,  but  could  not 
prevail  on  Augelicpie  to  lea\e  I.e  (iardeur,  who  was  kneel- 
ing down  by  the  side  of  the  bourgeois,  lifting  him  in  his 
arms  and  uttering  the  wildest  accents  of  grief  as  he  gazed 
upon  the  pallid,  innnovable  face  of  the  friend  of  his  youth. 

"That  is  the  assassin,  antl  tiie  woman,  too,"  cried  a 
>turdy  habitan.  "  1  heard  her  bid  him  draw  his  swcjrd  upon 
the  bourgeois." 

The  crowd  for  the  moment  believed  that  De  Pean  had 
been  the  murderer  of  Philibert. 

"  \o.  not  he;  it  was  the  other.  It  was  the  officer  who 
dismounted,  the  drunken  olficer.  Who  was  lie .''  Where 
i^  he  ?  "  cried  the  habitan,  forcing  his  wa\-  into  the  p,iesence 
I 'if  be  (Iardeur,  who  was  still  kneeling  by  the  side  of  the 
Ilourgeois  and  was  not  seen  for  a  few  moments;  but  quickly 
lio  was  identified. 


576 


tup:  coldkn   dog. 


"  'I'hat  is  he  !  "  cried  a  dozen  voices.  "  He  is  looking  if  lu' 
has  killed  him,  by  (iod  !  " 

A  number  of  men  rushed  upon  Le  (iardeur,  who  made  no 
defence,  but  continued  kneeling  beside  the  Recollet  lirother 
Daniel  over  th  body  of  the  llourgeois.  He  was  instaiulv 
seized  by  some  oi  the  crowd.  lie  iuld  out  his  hands  and 
bade  them  take  him  prisoner  or  kill  him  on  the  spot,  it 
they  would,  for  it  was  he  who  had  killed  the  IJourireois. 

Half  a  dozen  swords  were  instantly  drawn  as  if  to  take 
him  at  his  word,  when  the  terrible  shrieks  of  Anf^elicnic 
pierced  every  ear.  The  crowd  turned  in  astonishment  to 
see  who  it  was  on  horseback  that  cried  so  terribly,  "Do 
not  kill  him!  Do  not  kill  Le  (lardeur  de  Repentiu.UN  !  ' 
She  called  several  citizens  by  name  and  entreated  them  to 
helj)  to  save  him, 

])y  her  sudden  interference  Angelique  caused  a  diversion 
in  the  crowd.  I,e  (i;irdeur  rose  up  to  his  feet,  and  m  inv 
persons  recognized  him  wiih  astonishment  and  increduliiv, 
for  no  one  could  l)elieve  that  he  had  killed  the  good  liour- 
geois,  who  was  known  to  have  been  the  warm  friend  of  tlu' 
whole  family  of  De  Repentigny. 

De  I'ean,  taking  advantage  of  the  sudden  shift  of  <"eeliiif; 
in  the  crowd  and  anxious  for  the  safety  of  Angelicpie,  seized 
th(.;  bridle  of  her  horse  to  drag  her  forcibly  out  of  the  prc,s>, 
telling  her  that  her  words  had  been  heard  and  in  another 
instant  the  whole  mob  would  turn  its  fury  upon  her,  and  in 
order  to  save  her  life  she  must  fly. 

"  I  will  not  rty.  De  I'ean.  V'ou  may  fly  yourself,  for  you 
are  a  coward.  They  are  going  to  kill  Le  Gardeur.  and  1 
will  not  forsake  him.     They  shall  kill  me  first." 

"  r>ut  vou  must !  \'ou  shall  Hv  !  Hark  !  Le  Gardeur 
is  safe  for  the  present.  Wheel  your  horse  around,  and  you 
will  see  him  standing  up  yonder  cjuite  safe!  The  crowd 
rather  believe  it  was  I  who  killed  the  I)Ourgeois,  and  not 
Le  Gardeur!  I  have  a  soul  and  body  to  be  saved  as  wcl 
as  he  !  " 

"  Gurse  you,  soul  and  body,  De  Pean  !     You  made  mc  d> 
it!      Vou  put  those  hellish  words  in  my  mouth!      I  will  nuij 
go  until  1  see  Le  Gardeur  safe  !  " 

Angelitiue  endea\dred  frantically  to  approach  Le  (iar- 
deur,  and  could  not,  but  as  she  looked  over  the  surging  luad-. 


BLRSSKI)    THKV    WHO    DIE. 


577 


iS  looking;  if  he 

,  who  made  no 
ecollet  llrotlur 
i  was  inslanlly 
his  hands  and 
on  the  spot,  it 
l.ouiijeois. 
n  as  if  to  take 
5  of  Angeliquc 
.stonishinenl  to 
)  terribly,  *'  I  )(> 
RepentiL:;ny  '. " 
:reated  them  to 

sed  a  diversion 
feet,  and  many 
and  incredulity, 
the  s;o()d  llour- 
m  friend  of  llir 

shift  of  ^"eehni:; 
n,2,eli(iiie.  seized 
•ut  of  the  prt'Sh. 

and  in  anotlici 
pon  her,  and  in 

ourself,  for  you 
Ciardeur.  and  1 

rst." 

!  Le  Gardeui 
around,  and  you 
e!     The  crowd 

rgeois,  and  not 
)e  saved  as  wcl 

ou  made  mc  d"! 
(Uth  !      I  will  noil 

proach  Tx'  (i-ii 
le  surgins  hrad,^] 


of  the  people  she  coidd  see  Le  Gardeur  standing  up,  sur- 
rounded by  a  ring  of  a<^itated  men  who  did  not  ap|)ear,  how- 
e\er,  to  threaten  him  with  any  injury,  nay,  looked  at  him 
more  with  wonder  and  jiity  than  with  menace  of  injury. 

He  was  a  prisoner,  but  Angelicjue  did  not  know  it  or  she 
wovdd  not  have  left  hun.  As  it  was,  urged  by  the  most 
\ehement  objurgations  of  De  Pean,  and  seeing  a  portion  of 
the  crowd  turning  their  furious  looks  towards  herself  as 
she  sat  upon  her  horse,  unable  either  to  go  or  stay,  De 
I'ean  suddenly  seized  her  rein,  and  spurring  his  own  horse, 
dragged  her  furiously  in  spite  of  herself  out  of  the  tumult. 
They  rode  headlong  to  the  casernes  of  the  Regiment  of 
J5earn,  where  they  took  refuge  for  the  moment  from  the 
execrations  of  the  populace. 

The  hapless  Le  Gardeur  became  suddenly  sobered  and 
conscious  of  the  enormity  of  his  act.  He  called  madly  for 
death  from  the  raging  crowd.  He  held  out  his  hands  for 
chains  to  bind  a  murderer,  as  he  called  himself!  liut  no 
one  would  strike  him  or  offer  to  bind  him.  The  wrath  of 
the  people  was  so  mingled  wnth  blank  astonishment  at  his 
demeanor,  his  grief  and  his  despair  were  so  evidently  genu- 
ine and  so  deep,  that  many  said  he  was  mad,  and  more  an 
object  of  pity  than  of  punishment. 

At  his  own  reiterated  command,  he  was  given  over  to 
the  hands  of  some  soldiers  and  led  off,  followed  by  ".  great 
crowd  of  people,  to  the  main  guard  of  the  Castle  of  St. 
Louis,  where  he  was  left  a  prisoner,  while  another  portion 
of  the  multitude  gathered  about  the  scene  of  the  tragedy, 
surrounded  the  body  of  the  Bourgeois,  which  was  lifted  off 
the  ground  and  borne  aloft  on  men's  shoulders,  followed 
by  wild  cries  and  lamentations  to  the  House  of  the  Golden 
Dog,  —  the  house  which  he  had  left  but  half  an  hour  before, 
full  of  life,  vigor  and  humanity,  looking  before  and  after  as 
a  strong  man  looks  who  has  done  his  duty,  and  who  feels 
still  able  to  take  the  world  upon  his  shoulders  and  carry  it, 
if  need  were. 

The  sad  procession  moved  slowly  on  amid  the  pressing, 
agitated  crowd,  which  asked  and  answered  a  hundred  eager 
questions  in  a  breath.  The  two  poor  Recollet  brothers, 
Daniel  and  Andjrose,  walked  side  by  side  before  the  bleed- 
ing corpse  of  their  friend,  and  stiffed  their  emotions  by  sing- 


578 


THK    (iOl.DKX     I)()(i 


ing,  in  a  broken  voice  that  few  heard  l^ut  themselves,  the 
words    of    the    solitarv 
founder  of  their  order 


words    of    the    solitary   hymn    of    St.    l-'rancis    d'Assisi,   thr 


*'  Praised  l)e  tlie  Lord,  by  our  sweut  sister  Heath, 
From  whom  no  man  escapes,  iiowe'er  he  try  ! 
Woe  to  all  those  who  yield  their  jxirlinj^  breath 
In  mortal  >in  !    Hut  blessed  those  who  die 
Doiii.!;  thy  will  in  that  deiisive  hour  I 
The  second  death  o'er  such  shall  hav(;  no  power. 

Praise,  blessing,  and  tlKinl<st;i\  injf  to  my  Lord! 

For  all  He  .i^ives  antl  lakes  be  He  adored  !  " 

Dame  Rochelle  heard  the  approachinL;  noise  and  tumult. 
She  looked  out  of  tlie  window  and  could  see  the  edge  of  the 
crowd  in  the  market-place  tossing  to  and  fro  like  breakers 
upon  a  rocky  shore.  'I'he  people  in  the  streets  were  hurry 
ing  towards  the  market.  Swarms  of  men  emj)loyed  in  the 
magazines  of  the  bourgeois  were  running  out  of  the  edifice 
towards  the  same  spot. 

The  dame  divined  at  once  that  something  had  happened 
to  her  master.  She  uttered  a  fervent  prayer  for  his  safely. 
The  noise  grew  greater,  and  as  she  reached  out  of  the  win- 
dow to  demand  of  passers-by  what  was  the  matter,  a  voice 
shouted  up  that  the  I^ourgeois  was  dead ;  that  he  had  been 
killed  by  the  Grand  Company,  and  they  were  bringing  him 
home. 

The  voice  passed  on,  and  no  one  but  God  heeded  the 
long  wail  of  grief  that  rose  from  the  good  dame  as  she  fell 
upon  her  knees  in  the  doorway,  unable  to  proceed  further. 
She  preserved  her  consciousness,  however. 

The  crowd  now  swarmed  in  the  streets  aljout  the  doors 
of  the  house.  Presently  were  heard  tiie  shuflling  steps  of 
a  number  of  men  in  the  great  hall,  bearing  the  body  of  the 
Bourgeois  into  the  large  room  where  the  sunshine  was  phiy- 
ins:  so  gloriouslv. 

The  crowd,  impelled  by  a  feeling  of  reverence,  stood 
back ;  only  a  few  ventured  to  come  into  the  house. 

The  rough  habitans  who  brought  hiiu  in  laid  him  uik)!i  a 
couch  and  gazed  for  some  moments  in  silent  awe  upon  the 
noble  features,  so  pale  and  placid,  which  now  lay  motionless 
before  them. 

Here  was  a  man  fit  to  rule  an  empire,  and  who  did  rule 


*•  HLESSEI)     THKV    WHO    IMF.. 


579 


I  who  did  rale 


the  half  of  New  I-'rance,  who  was  no  more  now,  save  in  the 
love  and  <;Tatilude  of  the  people,  than  the  poorest  piece  of 
human  v,lay  in  the  potter's  tield.  The  great  leveller  had 
passed  his  rule  over  him  as  he  passes  it  over  every  (^ne 
f)f  us.  The  dead  lion  was  less  now  than  the  living  dog, 
and  the  (Itjlden  Dog  itself  was  henceforth  only  a  memory, 
and  an  epitaph  forever  of  the  tragedy  of  tiiis  eventful  day. 

"Oh,  my  master !  my  good,  noble  master  ! '"  exclaimed  1  )ame 
Kochelle  as  she  roused  herself  up  and  rushed  t(^  the  cham- 
licr  of  the  dead.  "  \'our  implacable  enemies  have  killed 
you  at  last !  I  knew  it !  Oh,  I  knew  that  your  precious 
life  would  one  day  pay  the  penalty  of  your  truth  and  jus- 
lice  !  And  Pierre!  Oh,  where  is  he  on  this  day  of  all  days 
of  grief  and  sorrow  .''  " 

She  wrung  her  hands  at  the  thought  of  Pierre's  absence 
to-day,  and  what  a  welcome  home  awaited  him. 

The  noise  and  tumult  in  the  street  continued  to  increase. 
The  friends  of  the  I>ourgeois  poured  into  the  house,  among 
ihem  the  Oovernor  and  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  who  came  with 
an.xious  looks  and  hasty  steps  to  inquire  into  the  details  of 
the  murder. 

The  Governor,  after  a  short  consultation  witli  La  Corne 
St.  Luc,  who  happened  to  be  at  the  Castle,  fearing  a  riot 
and  an  attack  upon  the  magazines  of  the  Grand  Company, 
ordered  the  troops  immediately  under  arms  and  despatched 
.>trong  detachments  under  the  command  of  careful  and 
trusty  officers  to  the  Palace  of  the  Intendant,  and  the  great 
warehouse  of  the  Frii)onne,  and  also  into  the  market-place, 
and  to  the  residence  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly,  not  knowing  in 
what  direction  the  fury  of  the  populace  might  direct  itself. 

'Phe  orders  were  earned  out  in  a  few  minutes  without 
noise  or  confusion.  'Phe  Count,  with  La  Corne  St.  Luc. 
whose  countenance  bore  a  concentration  of  sorrow  and 
anger  wonderful  to  see.  hastened  down  to  the  house  of 
mourning.  Claude  Peauharnais  and  Riiraud  de  Vaudreuil 
followed  hastily  after  them,  'Phey  pushed  through  the 
crowd  that  filled  the  Rue  Puade,  and  the  people  took  olT 
their  hats,  while  the  air  resounded  with  denunciations  of 
the  Lriponne  and  apjieals  for  vengeance  upon  the  assassin 
of  the  Bourgeois. 

The  Governor  and  his  companions  were  moved  to  tears 


58o 


TUK  fioLDEX   noc;. 


at  the  si<;ht  of  tlieir  murdered  friend  lying  in  his  bloody 
vesture,  which  was  open  to  enable  tiie  worthy  Dr.  (iauthier, 
who  had  run  in  all  haste,  to  examine  the  still  oo/ing  wound. 
The  RecoUet  llrother  1  )aniel  still  knelt  in  silent  jjraver  at 
his  feet,  while  Dame  Rochelle  with  tremblin<;-  hands  ar- 
ranged the  drapery  decently  over  her  dead  master,  repeating 
to  herself  : 

"  It  is  the  end  of  trouble,  and  Clod  has  mercifully  takrn 
him  away  before  he  empties  the  \ials  of  his  wrath  upon  this 
New  I'rance,  and  gives  it  up  for  a  possession  to  our  enc 
mies  !  What  says  the  prophet  ?  '  The  righteous  perishelli 
and  no  man  layeth  it  to  heart,  and  merciful  men  are  taken 
away,  none  considering  that  the  rightecnis  are  taken  awav 
from  the  evil  to  come  !  ' '' 

The  very  heart  of  La  (!orne  St.  Luc  seemed  bursting  in 
his  bosom,  and  he  choked  with  a^ony  as  he  placed  his  hand 
upon  the  forehead  of  his  friend,  a.xl  reHectecl  that  the  good 
Dourgeois  had  fallen  by  the  sworci  of  his  godson,  the  old 
man's  pride,  —  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  ! 

"  Had  death  come  to  him  on  the  In'oad,  con^inon  road  o( 
mortality,  —  had  he  died  like  a  soldier  on  the  battletield." 
exclaimed  La  (.'orne,  "  I  would  have  had  no  spite  at  fate. 
But  to  be  stabbed  in  the  midst  of  his  good  deeds  of  alms. 
and  by  the  hand  of  one  whom  he  loved!  Yes,  by  (lod  !  I 
will  say  it  !  and  by  one  who  loved  him  !  Oh,  it  is  terrililc. 
Count !  Terrible  and  shameful  to  n^^e  as  if  it  had  been  the 
deed  of  my  own  son  !  " 

"  La  Corne,  1  feel  with  you  the  grief  and  shame  of  such  a 
tragedy.  But  there  is  a  fearful  myster\-  in  this  thing  which 
we  cannot  yet  unravel.  They  say  the  Chevalier  de  I 'can 
dropped  an  expression  that  sounded  like  a  plot.  I  cannot 
think  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  would  deliberately  an  1 
with  forethought  have  killed  the  Bourgeois." 

"On  my  life  he  never  would!  He  respected  the  Boui- 
geois,  nay,  loved  him,  for  the  sake  of  I'ierre  I'hilibert  a-; 
well  as  for  his  own  sake.  Terrible  as  is  his  crime,  he  ne\(  r 
committed  it  out  of  malice  aforethought.  He  has  been  him- 
self the  victim  of  some  hellish  plot,  for  a  plot  there  ha-» 
been.  This  has  been  no  chance  melee,  Count,"  exclaimed 
La  Corne  St.  Luc  impetuou.sly. 

"  It  looks  like  a  chance  melee,  but  1   suspect  more  than 


"  BLESSF.l)     rHKV    WHO    DIE. 


581 


:ct  more  than 


ai)pears  on  the  surface,"  replied  the  (Governor.  "The 
removal  of  the  IJoiUi^eois  decapitates  the  party  of  the  Iloii- 
nctcs  Gens,  does  it  not  ?  " 

"  (lospel  is  not  more  true  !  'I'he  15ourgeois  was  the  only 
merchant  in  New  France  capable  of  meetinjj;  their  monopoly 
and  fighting  them  with  their  own  weapons.  IJigot  and  the 
Orand  C'omjiany  will  have  everyth.ini;  their  own  way  now," 

'•  I5esidcs,  there  was  the  old  feud  of  the  (lolden  Dosj,"  con- 
tinued the  Oovernor.  ••  ljiij;ot  took  its  allusion  to  the  Cardinal 
as  a  personal  insult  lo  himself,  did  he  nijt,  La  Corne  ?  " 

"Yes;  and  l!iL:;ot  knew  he  deserved  it  ecpially  with  his 
Eminence,  whose  arch-tool  he  had  been,"  replied  La  Corne. 
"  Hy  (lod  !  I  believe  \Kv^oX  has  been  at  the  bcjttom  of  this 
plot.      It  would  be  worthy  of  his  craft." 

"  These  are  points  to  be  considered,  I>a  Corne.  Hut  such 
is  the  secrecy  of  these  men's  councils,  that  I  doubt  we  may 
suspect  more  than  we  shall  ever  be  able  to  prove."  The 
(Governor  lo:)ked  much  agitated. 

"  What  amazes  me.  Count,  is  not  that  the  thing  should  be 
done,  but  that  Le  (lardeur  should  have  done  it!"  ex- 
claimed La  Corne,  with  a  puzzled  expression. 

"That  is  the  strangest  circumstance  of  all,  La  Corne," 
observed  the  Governor.  "  The  same  thought  has  struck  me. 
but  he  was  mad  with  wine,  they  say ;  and  men  who  upset 
tiieir  reason  do  not  seldom  reverse  their  conduct  towards 
their  friends  ;  they  are  often  crudest  to  those  whom  they 
love  best." 

"  I  wnll  not  believe  but  that  he  was  made  drunk  purposely 
to  conunit  this  crime  !  "  exclaimed  La  Corne,  striking  his 
hand  upon  his  thigh.  "  Le  Gardeur  in  his  senses  would 
have  lost  his  right  hand  sooner  than  have  raised  it  against 
the  Bourgeois." 

"  I  feel  sure  of  it  ;  his  friendship  for  I'ierre  Philibert,  to 
whom  he  owed  his  life,  was  something  rarely  seen  now-a- 
tlays,"  remarked  the  Count. 

La  Corne  felt  a  relief  in  bearing  testimony  in  favor  of  Le 
(lardeur.  "  They  loved  one  another  like  brothers,"  said  he, 
"  and  more  than  brothers.  Jiigot  had  corrupted  the  habits, 
hut  could  never  soil  the  heart  or  lessen  tlie  love  of  Le  Gar- 
deur for  Pierre  Philibert,  or  his  respect  for  the  IJourgeois, 
his  father." 


582 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


"It  is  a  mystery,  La  Corne  ;  I  cannot  fathom  it.  Hut 
there  is  one  more  danger  to  guard  against,"  said  the  (lover- 
nor  meditatively,  "and  we  have  sorrow  enough  already 
among  our  friends." 

"  What  is  that,  Count  ?  "  La  Corne  stood  up  erect  as  if  in 
mental  defiance  of  a  new  danger. 

"  Pierre  I'hilibert  will  return  home  to-night,"  replied  liic 
Governor ;  "  he  carries  the  sharpest  sword  in  New  France. 
A  duel  between  hiin  and  Le  Gardeur  would  crown  the  mach- 
inations of  the  secret  plotters  in  this  murder.  He  will  cer- 
tainly avenge  his  father's  death,  even  upon  Le  Gardeur." 

La  Corne  St.  Luc  started  at  this  sugge^^tion,  but  presently 
shook  his  head.  '"My  life  upon  it,"  said  he,  "  Le  Gardeiu- 
would  stand  up  t(j  receive  the  sword  of  Pierre  through  his 
heart,  but  he  would  never  tight  him  !  Besides,  the  imhappy 
boy  is  a  prisoner." 

"We  will  care  well  for  him  and  keep  him  safe.  He  shall 
have  absolute  justice.  La  Corne,  but  no  favor." 

An  officer  entered  the  room  to  report  to  the  Governor  that 
the  troops  had  reached  their  assigned  posts,  and  that  there 
was  no  symptom  of  rioting  among  the  people  in  any  quarter 
of  the  city. 

The  Governor  was  greatly  relieved  by  these  tidini^s. 
"  Now,  La  Corne,"  said  he,  "  we  have  done  wliat  is  needful 
for  the  public.  I  can  spare  you,  for  I  know  where  your 
heart  yearns  most  to  go,  to  offer  the  consolations  of  a  true 
friend." 

"  Alas,  yes,"  replied  La  Corne  sadly.  "  Men  weep  t'^us 
of  water,  but  women  tears  of  blood  !  What  is  our  hardest 
grief  compared  with  the  overwhelming  sorrow  and  desola- 
tion that  will  pass  over  my  poor  goddaughter,  Ame'lie  cir 
Kepentigny,  and  the  nolile  Ladv  de  Tilly  at  this  doleful 
news  ?  " 

"(io  comfort  them.  La  Corne,  and  the  angel  of  conso- 
lation go  with  you  !  "  The  Governor  shook  him  by  the 
hand  ami  wisheil  him  Godspeed. 

La  Corne  St.  Luc  instantly  left  the  house.  The  crowd 
uncovered  and  made  way  for  him  as  they  would  have  doiu' 
for  the  Governor  himself,  as  with  hasty  strides  he  passed  up 
the  Rue  du  I'ort  and  on  towards  the  Cape,  where  stood  the 
mansion  of  the  Lady  de  'IMlly. 


"  BLESSED    THEY    WHO    DIE. 


583 


;rect  as  if  in 


'e.     He  sliall 


"  Oh,  Rigaud,  what  a  day  of  sorrow  this  is  ! '"  exch\iined  the 
Governor  to  I)e  Vaudreuil,  on  their  retmn  to  the  Castle  of 
St.  Louis.  "  What  a  bloody  and  disgraceful  event  to  record 
in  the  annals  of  New  France  !  " 

"  1  would  give  half  1  have  in  the  world  could  it  be  forever 
blotted  out,"  replied  De  Vaudreuil.  "  Your  friend,  Herr 
Kalm,  has  left  us,  fortunately,  befoie  he  could  record  in  his 
book,  for  all  Europe  to  read,  that  men  are  murdered  in  New 
France  to  sate  the  vengeance  of  a  Royal  Intendant  and  fill 
the  purses  of  the  greatest  company  of  thieves  that  ever  plun- 
dered a  nation." 

"  Hark,  Rigaud  !  do  not  say  such  things,"  interrupted  the 
Governor ;  "  I  trust  it  is  not  so  bad  as  tnat ;  but  it  shall  be 
seen  into,  if  I  remain  Governor  of  New  France.  The  blood 
of  the  noble  13ourgeois  shall  be  requited  at  the  hands  of  all 
concerned  in  his  assassination.  The  blame  of  it  shall  not 
rest  wholly  upon  that  unhappy  Le  Gardeur.  We  will  trace 
it  up  to  its  very  origin  and  fountain-head." 

"  Right,  Count ;  you  are  true  as  steel.  But  mark  me  !  if 
you  begin  to  trace  this  assassination  up  to  its  origin  and 
fountain-head,  your  letters  of  recall  will  be  despatched  by 
the  first  ship  that  leaves  France  after  the  news  reaches  Ver- 
sailles."    Rigaud  looked  fixedly  at  the  Count  as  he  said  this. 

"  It  may  be  so,  Rigaud,"  replied  the  Count,  sadly  ;  "  strange 
things  take  place  under  the  regime  of  the  strange  women  who 
now  rule  the  Court.  Nevertheless,  while  I  am  here  my  whole 
duty  shall  be  done.  In  this  matter  justice  shall  be  meted  oul 
with  a  firm  and  impartial  hand,  no  matter  who  shall  be  in- 
criminated ! " 

'I'he  Count  de  la  Galissoniere  at  once  summoned  a  number 
of  his  most  trusted  and  most  sagacious  councillors  together 
—  the  Intendant  was  not  one  of  those  summoned  to  con- 
sider what  steps  it  behooved  tliem  to  lake  to  provide  for  the 
public  safely  and  to  ensure  the  ends  of  justice  ii  this  lament- 
able tragedy. 


chaptp:r  LI. 


EVIL    NEWS    RIDES    POST. 


1"^HE  sunbeams  never  shone  more  golden  through  the 
casement  of  a  hidy's  bower  than  on  that  same  morn- 
ing of  St.  Martin's  through  the  window  of  the  chamber  of 
Amelie  de  Repentigny,  as  she  sat  in  tlie  midst  of  a  grouj)  of 
younjj'  ladies  holding  earnest  council  over  the  dresses  and 
adornments  of  herself  and  companions,  who  were  to  be  her 
bridesmaids  on  her  marriage  with  Pierre  Philibert, 

Amelie  had  risen  from  pleasant  dreams.  The  tender  Hush 
of  yesterday's  walk  on  the  banks  of  the  Lairet  lingered  on 
her  cheek  all  night  long,  like  the  rosy  tint  of  a  midsummer's 
sunset.  The  loving  words  of  Pierre  floated  through  her 
memory  like  a  strain  of  divine  music,  with  the  sweet  accom- 
paniment of  her  own  modest  confessions  of  love,  which  she 
had  so  frankly  expressed. 

Amelie's  chamber  was  vocal  with  gaiety  and  laughter;  for 
with  her  to-day  were  the  chosen  friends  and  lifelong  com- 
panions who  had  ever  shared  her  love  and  confidence. 

These  were,  Hortense  Heauharnais,  happy  also  in  lier 
recent  betrothal  to  Jumonville  de  Villiers;  Heloise  le  L(»t- 
binicre,  so  tenderly  attached  to  Amelie,  and  whom  of  all  her 
friends  Amelie  wanted  most  to  call  by  the  name  of  sister: 
Agathe,  the  fair  daughter  of  I^a  (.'orne  St.  Luc,  so  like  Ikt 
father  in  looks  and  spirit;  and  Amelie's  cousin,..  Marguerite 
de  Kepentigny,  the  reflection  of  herself  in  feature  and  num- 
ners. 

Tliere  was  rich  material  in  that  chamber  for  the  conversa- 
tion of  such  a  group  of  happy  girls.  The  bridal  trousseau 
was  spread  out  before  them,  and  upon  chairs  and  couclu's 
lay  dresses  of  marvellous  fabric  an.l  beauty,  mn.-ilins  and 
shawls  of  India  and  Caslurere,  and  the  fmest  products  of  the 
looms  of  France  and  Holland.  It  was  a  trousseau  tit  for  a 
queen,  and  an  e\idence  at  once  of  the  wealth  of  the  Lady  de 


EVIL    NEWS    RIDES    POST. 


5^S5 


Tilly  and  of  her  unbounded  love  for  her  niece,  Amelie.  The 
gifts  of  Pierre  were  not  mingled  with  the  rest,  nor  as  yet  had 
they  been  shown  to  her  bridesmaids,  —  Amelie  kept  them  for 
a  pretty  surprise  upon  another  day. 

Upon  the  table  stood  a  golden  casket  of  Venetian  work- 
manship, the  carvings  of  which  represented  the  marriage  at 
Cana  in  Galilee.  It  was  stored  with  priceless  jewels  which 
dazzled  the  sight  and  presented  a  constellation  of  starry 
gems,  the  like  of  which  had  never  been  seen  in  the  New 
World.  It  was  the  gift  of  the  Bourgeois  Philibert,  who  gave 
this  splendid  token  of  his  affection  and  utter  contentment 
with  Amelie  as  the  bride  of  his  son  and  heir. 

The  girls  were  startled  in  the  midst  of  their  preparations 
by  the  sudden  dashing  past  of  a  horseman,  who  rode  in  a 
cloud  of  dust,  followed  by  a  wild,  strange  cry,  as  of  many 
people  shouting  together  in  lamentation  and  anger. 

Amelie  a  1  Heloise  looked  at  each  other  with  a  strange 
feeling,  but  sat  still  while  the  rest  rushed  to  the  balcony, 
where  they  leaned  eagerly  over  to  catch  sight  of  the  passing 
horseman  and  discover  the  meaning  of  the  loud  and  still 
repeated  cry. 

The  rider  had  disappeared  round  the  angle  of  the  ('ape, 
but  the  cry  from  the  city  waxed  still  louder,  as  if  more  and 
more  voices  joined  in  it. 

Presently  men  on  horseback  and  on  foot  were  seen  hurry- 
ing towards  the  Castle  of  vSt.  Louis,  and  one  or  two  shot  up 
the  long  slope  of  the  IMace  d'Armes,  galloping  towards  the 
mansion  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly,  talking  and  gesticulating  in 
the  wildest  manner. 

"  In  God's  name,  what  is  the  matter,  Monsieur  La  Force  .'' " 
exclaimed  Hortense  as  that  gentleman  rode  furiously  up  and 
checked  his  horse  violently  at  the  sight  of  Mie  ladies  upon 
the  balcony. 

Hortense  repeated  her  question.  La  Force  tof)k  off  his 
hat  and  lo(jked  up,  puzzled  and  distressed.  "  Is  the  Ladyde 
Tilly  at  home.''"  in(|uired  he  ea^^erly. 

"  Not  just  MOW,  she  has  gone  out;  but  what  is  the  matter, 
in  heaxen's  name  ?  "  repeated  she,  as  another  wild  cry  came 
up  from  the  city. 

"  Ts  ^hulemoiselle  Amelie  home?"  again  asked  La 
Force  with  ajiitated  voice. 


586 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


"  She  is  home.  Heavens  !  have  you  some  l)ad  news  to 
tell  her  or  the  Lady  de  Tilly  ?  "  breathlessly  inquired  Hor- 
tense. 

"  l^ad  news  for  both  of  them  ;  for  all  of  us,  Hortense  ! 
But  1  will  not  be  the  bearer  of  such  terrible  tidings,  -  others 
are  following  me;  ask  them.  Oh,  Hortense,  prepare  poor 
Amelie  for  the  worst  news  that  ever  came  to  her." 

The  Sieur  La  Force  would  not  wait  to  be  further  ques- 
tioned,-he  rode  off  furiously, 

'I'he  bridesmaids  all  turned  pale  with  affright  at  these 
ominous  words,  and  stood  looking  at  each  other  and  asking 
what  they  could  mean. 

Amelie  and  Heloise  caught  some  of  the  conversation 
between  Hortense  and  La  Force.  They  sprang  up  and  ran 
to  the  balcony  just  as  two  of  the  servants  of  the  hou^e 
came  rushing  up  with  open  mouths,  staring  eyes,  antl  trem- 
bling with  excitement.  They  did  not  wait  to  be  asked  what 
was  the  matter,  but  as  soon  as  they  saw  the  ladies  the\' 
shouted  out  the  terrible  news,  as  the  manner  of  their  kind 
is,  without  a  thought  of  the  consequences:  that  Le  (Jardeur 
had  just  killed  the  Hourgeois  IMiilibert  in  the  market-place. 
and  was  himself  either  killed  or  a  prisoner,  and  the  peojile 
were  going  to  burn  the  Friponne  and  hang  the  Intendanl 
under  the  tablet  of  the  Golden  Dog,  and  all  the  city  v, as 
going  to  be  destroyed. 

The  servants,  having  communicated  this  piece  of  wild 
intelligence,  instantly  rushed  into  the  house  and  repeated  it 
to  the  household,  tilling  the  mansion  in  a  few  moments 
with  shrieks  and  confusion. 

It  was  in  vain  Hortense  and  Agnthe  La  Corne  St.  Luc 
strove  to  withhold  the  terrible  truth  from  .Ameiie.  Her 
friends  endeavored  with  kmdly  force  and  eager  exhortation^ 
to  prevent  her  coming  to  the  balcony,  but  she  would  not  hr 
stayed  ;  in  her  excitement  she  had  tlie  strength  of  one  ot 
God's  angels.  She  had  caught  enough  of  the  speech  of  tiu- 
servants  to  gather  ui)  its  sense  into  a  connected  whoU'. 
and  in  a  moment  of  terrible  enlightenment,  that  came  lik' 
a  thunderbolt  driven  through  her  soul,  she  understood  the 
whole  significance  of  their  tidings. 

Her     hapless    brother,    maddened    with    disappointmenl. 
driilk,  and  desperation,  had  killetl  the  father  ot  I'ierre,  llu 


EVIL    NEWS    RIDES    POST. 


587 


father  of  her  betrothed  husband,  his  own  friend  and    hers ; 
why  or  how,  was  a  mystery  of  amazement. 

She  saw  at  a  gjhince  all  the  ruin  of  it.  Her  brother  a 
murderer,  the  liourgoois  a  bleedinii;  corpse.  I'ierre,  iier 
lover  and  her  pride,  lost,  —  lost  to  her  forever  !  The  blood 
of  his  father  rising  up  between  them  calling  for  vengeance 
upon  Le  (iardeur  and  invoking  a  curse  upon  the  whole 
house  of  Repentigny. 

The  heart  of  Amelie,  but  a  few  moments  ago  expanding 
with  joy  and  overflowing  with  the  tenderest  emotions  of  a 
loving  bride,  suddenly  collapsed  and  shrivelled  like  a  leaf  in 
the  fire  of  this  unlooked-for  catastrophe. 

She  stared  wildly  and  imploringly  in  the  countenances  of 
her  trembling  companions  as  if  for  help,  but  no  human  help 
could  avail  her.  She  spake  not,  but  uttering  one  long, 
agonizing  scream,  fell  senseless  upon  the  bosom  of  F^eloise 
de  Lotbiniere,  who,  herself  nigh  fainting,  bore  Amelie  with 
the  assistance  of  her  friends  to  a  couch,  where  she  lay  uncon- 
scious of  the  tears  and  wailing  that  surrounded  her. 

Marguerite  de  Repentigny  with  her  weeping  cotnpanions 
remained  in  the  chamber  of  Amelie,  watching  eagerly  for 
some  sign  of  returning  consciousness,  and  assiduously  ad- 
ministering such  restoratives  as  were  at  hand. 

Their  patience  and  tenderness  were  at  last  rewarded,  — 
Amelie  gave  a  flutter  of  re\iving  life.  Her  dark  eyes  opened 
and  stared  wildly  for  a  moment  at  her  companions  with  a 
blank  look,  until  they  rested  upon  the  veil  and  orange  blo.s- 
soms  on  t^he  head  of  Agathe,  who  had  put  them  on  in  such 
a  merry  mood  and  forgotten  in  the  sudden  catastrophe  to 
take  them  off  again. 

The  sight  o'  the  bridal  veil  and  wreath  seemed  to  rouse 
Amelie  to  consciousness.  The  terrible  news  of  the  muider 
of  the  liourgeois  by  Le  (lardeur  llaslied  uj^on  her  mind, 
and  she  pressed  her  burning  eyelids  hard  shut  with  her 
hands,  as  if  not  to  see  the  hideous  thought. 

Her  comjianions  wept,  but  Amelie  found  no  lelief  in  tears 
as  she  murmured  the  name  of  the  liourgeois,  Le  (lardeur, 
and  Pierre. 

They  spoke  softly  to  her  in  tones  of  tenderest  .symijathy, 
but  she  scarcely  heeded  them,  absorbed  as  she  was  in  deepest 
tl 'spair,  and  still  pressing  her  e}es  shut  as  if  she  had  done 


588 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


with  day  and  cared  no  more  to  see  the  bright  sunshine 
that  streamed  throui^h  the  lattice.  The  past,  present,  and 
future  of  her  whole  life  started  up  before  her  in  terrible  dis- 
tinctness, and  seemed  concentrated  in  one  present  spot  of 
mental  anguish. 

Ame'lie  came  of  a  heroic  race,  stern  to  endure  pain  as  to 
inllict  it,  capable  of  unshrinking  fortitude  and  of  desperate 
resolves.  A  few  moments  of  terrible  contemplation  decided 
her  forever,  changed  the  whole  current  of  her  life,  and  oxer- 
threw  as  with  an  earthquake  the  gorgeous  palace  of  her 
maiden  hopes  and  long-cherished  anticipations  of  love  and 
happiness  as  the  wife  of  Pierre  Philibert. 

She  saw  it  all  ;  there  was  no  room  for  iiope,  no  chance  of 
averting  the  fatal  doom  that  had  fallen  upon  her.  Her 
life,  as  she  had  long  pictured  it  to  her  imagination,  was  done 
and  ended.  Her  projected  marriage  with  Pierre  JMiilibert  ? 
It  was  like  sudden  death  !  In  one  moment  the  hand  of  God 
had  transported  her  from  the  living  to  the  dead  world  of 
woman's  love.  A  terrible  crime  had  been  perpetrated,  and 
she,  innocent  as  she  was,  must  bear  the  burden  of  punish- 
ment. She  had  but  one  object  now  to  live  for :  to  put  on 
sackcloth  and  ashes,  and  wear  her  knees  out  in  prayer  before 
(]od,  imploring  forgiveness  and  mercy  upon  her  unhappy 
l)rother,  and  expiate  the  righteous  blood  of  the  just  man  who 
had  been  slain  by  him. 

She  rose  hastily  and  stood  up.  Her  face  w^as  beautiful  as 
the  face  of  a  marble  Niobe,  but  as  pale  and  as  full  of 
anguish. 

"  My  loving  bridesmaids,"  said  she,  "  it  is  now  all  over 
with  poor  Amelie  de  Repentigny ;  tell  Pierre,"  and  here  she 
sobbed,  almost  choking  in  her  grief,  "tell  Pierre  not  to  hatc 
me  for  this  blood  that  lies  on  the  threshold  of  our  house  ! 
Tell  him  how  truly  and  faithfully  I  was  preparing  to  devote 
myself  to  his  happiness  as  his  bride  and  wife ;  tell  him  how 
I  loved  him,  and  I  only  forsake  him  because  it  is  the  inex 
orable  decree  of  my  sad  fate  ;  not  my  will,  but  my  cruel 
misfortune.  But  I  know^  his  noble  nature  ;  he  will  pity,  not 
hate  me.  'I  ell  him  it  will  even  rejoice  me  where  1  am 
going  to  know  that  Pierre  Philibert  still  loves  me.  I  can 
not,  dare  not  ask  him  to  pardon  Le  Gardeur !  I  dare 
not  pardon  him   myself  !     J5tit  I   know  Pierre  will  be  just 


EVIL    NEWS    RIDES    POST, 


589 


and  merciful  to  my  poor  brother,  even  in  this  hour  of 
doom," 

"  And  now,"  continued  she,  speaking  with  a  terrible 
energy,  "  put  away  these  bridal  deceits ;  they  will  never  be 
worn  by  me  !  I  have  a  garb  more  becoming  the  bridal  of 
death;  more  fitting  to  wear  by  the  sister  of  —  ()  God!  I 
was  going  to  say,  of  a  murderer!" 

Amelie,  with  a  wild  desperation,  gathered  up  the  gay 
robes  and  garlands  and  threw  them  in  a  heap  in  the  corner 
of  the  chamber.  My  glory  is  departed!"  said  she.  "Oh, 
Hortense,  I  am  punished  for  the  pride  I  took  in  them  ! 
Yet  it  w^as  not  for  myself,  but  for  the  sake  of  him,  I  took 
pride  in  them  !  Bestow  them,  I  pray  you,  upon  some  more 
happy  girl,  who  is  poor  in  fortune,  but  rich  in  love,  who 
will  wear  them  at  her  bridal,  instead  of  the  unhappy  Amelie." 

The  group  of  girls  beheld  her,  while  their  eyes  were 
swimming  with  tears.  "  I  have  long,  long  kept  a  bridal 
veil  in  my  closet,"  she  went  on,  "  and  knew  not  it  was  to 
be  mine  !  "  Opening  a  wardrobe,  she  took  out  a  long  black 
veil.  It  had  belonged  to  her  grandaunt,  the  nun,  Madelaine 
de  Repentigny,  and  was  kept  as  an  heirloom  in  her  family. 

"  This,"  said  she,  "  shall  be  mine  till  death  !  Kmbrace 
me,  O  my  sisters,  my  bridesmaids  and  companions.  I  go 
now  to  the  Ursulines  to  kneel  at  the  door  and  crave  admit- 
tance to  pass  a  life  of  penitence  for  Le  Gardeur,  and  of 
prayer  for  my  beloved  Pierre." 

"O  Amelie,  think  what  you  do!"  exclaimed  Hortense 
Beauharnais ;  "  be  not  hasty,  take  not  a  step  that  cannot  be 
recalled.     It  will  kill  Pierre  !  " 

"Alas!  1  have  killed  him  already!"  said  she;  "but  my 
mind  is  made  up  !  Dear  Hortense,  I  love  Pierre,  but  oh,  I 
could  never  look  at  his  face  again  without  shame  that 
would  burn  like  guilt.  I  give  myself  henceforth  to  (Mirist, 
not  for  my  own  sake,  but  for  his,  and  for  my  unhappy 
brother's!  ])o  not  hinder  me,  dear  friends,  and  do  not  fol- 
low me  !  May  you  all  be  happy  in  your  happiness,  and 
pray  for  poor  Amelie,  whom  fate  has  stricken  so  hard  and 
so  cruelly  in  the  very  moment  of  !ier  brightest  hopes  !  And 
now  let  me  go  —  alone—  and  Goa  bless  yon  all!  Hid  my 
aunt  to  come  and  see  me,"  added  she ;  "  I  cannot  even  wait 
her  return." 


590 


THK    GOLDEN     IXXJ. 


■^rhe  girls  stood  weeping  around  her,  and  kissed  and 
embraced  her  over  and  over.  They  would  not  disobey  her 
request  to  be  allowetl  to  go  alone  to  the  Convent,  but  as  she 
turned  to  depart,  she  was  clasped  around  the  neck  by  He- 
loise  de  Lotbiniere,  exclaiming  that  she  should  not  go  alone, 
that  the  light  of  the  world  had  gone  out  for  her  as  well  as 
for  Amelie,  and  she  would  go  with  her. 

"  l)Ut  why,    Heloise,   would  you  go  with    me  to   the   Con 
vent?"  asked  Amelie,  sadly.      She  knew  but  too  well  why. 

"Oh,  my  cousin!  I  too  would  pray  for  Le  Oardeur !  I 
too  but  no  matter!  I  will  go  with  you,  Amelie!  If  the 
door  of  the  Ursulines  open  for  you,  it  shall  open  for  Heloise 
de  Lotbiniere  also." 

"  1  have  no  right  to  say  nay,  Heloise,  nor  will  I,"  replied 
Amelie,  embracing  her ;  "  you  are  of  my  blood  and  lineage. 
and  the  lamp  of  Repentigny  is  always  burning  in  the  holy 
chapel  to  receive  broken-hearted  penitents  like  you  ar.d 
me  !  " 

"  Oh,  Heloise,  do  not  you  also  leave  us  !  Stay  till  to-mor- 
row ! "  exclaimed  the  agitated  girls,  amazed  at  this  new 
announcement. 

'*  My  mind  is  made  up ;  it  has  long  been  made  up  ! " 
replied  Heloise.  "  I  only  waited  the  marriage  of  Ame'lie  be- 
fore consummating  my  resolution  to  enter  the  convent.  I 
go  now  to  comfort  Amelie,  as  no  other  friend  in  the  world 
can  comfort  her.  We  shall  be  more  content  in  the  midst  of 
our  sorrows  to  be  together." 

It  was  in  vain  to  plead  with  or  to  dissuade  them.  Amelie 
and  Heloise  were  inexorable  and  eager  to  be  gone.  They 
again  kissed  their  companions,  with  many  tears  bidding 
them  a  last  farewell,  and  the  two  weei)ing  girls,  hiding  their 
heads  under  their  veils,  left  the  l)right  mansion  that  was 
their  home,  and  j^roceeded  with  hasty  steps  towards  the  Con- 
vent of  the  Ursulines. 


kissed  and 
disobey  her 
,  but  as  siic 
eck  by  Ik- 
ot  go  alone, 
■  as  well   as 


CHAPTER  LII. 


Lo   the   ( 'on 
well  whv. 
jardeur !      I 
lie!      If  the 
for  Heloise 

I   I,"  replied 

nnd  linea;j;('. 

in  the  holy 

:e    you    ar.d 

^  till  to-mor- 
t    this    new 

made  up  !  " 
■  Amelie  be- 
convent.  I 
n  the  world 
he  midst  of 

m.  Amelie 
:one.  Thev 
ars  bidding 
hiding  their 
•n  that  was 
•ds  the  Con- 


c 


THK    LAMP    OK    RK1>KNT[GNY. 


LOSKLV  veiled,  acknowledirinir  no  one,  looking  at  no 


id  not  tht 


;b 


id  by 


but 


3  recogni; 
ing  to  each  other  tor  mutual  support,  Amelie  and    Meloise 
traversed  swiftly  the  streets  that  led  to  the  Convent  of  the 
LJrsulines. 

At  the  doors,  and  in  the  porches  and  galleries  of  the 
old-fashioned  houses,  women  stood  in  groups,  discussing 
eagerly  the  wild  reports  that  were  Hying  to  and  fro  through 
the  city,  and  looking  up  and  down  the  streets  for  further 
news  of  the  tragedy  in  the  market-place.  The  male  part 
of  the  population  had  run  off  and  gathered  in  excited 
masses  around  the  mansion  of  the  Golden  Dog,  which  was 
suddenly  shut  up,  and  long  streamers  of  black  crape  were 
hanging  at  the  door. 

Many  were  the  inquisitive  glances  and  eager  whisperings 
of  the  good  wives  and  girls  as  the  two  ladies,  deeply  veiled 
in  black,  passed  by  with  drooping  heads  and  handkerchiefs 
pressed  against  their  faces,  while  more  than  one  quick  ear 
caught  the  deep,  suppressed  sobs  that  broke  from  their 
bosoms.  No  one  ventured  to  address  them,  however,  al- 
though their  appearance  caused  no  little  speculation  as  to 
who  they  were  and  whither  they  were  going. 

Amc'lie  and  Heloise,  almost  fainting  under  their  sorrow, 
stood  upon  the  broad  stone  step  whicli  formed  the  threshold 
that  separated  the  world  they  were  entering  into  from  the 
world  they  were  lea\'ing. 

The  high  gables  and  old  belfry  of  the  Monastrey  stood 
bathed  in  sunlight.  The  figure  of  St.  Joseph  that  domi- 
nated over  the  ancient  portal  held  out  his  arms  and  seemed 
to  w'elcome  the  trembling  fugitives  into  the  house  with  a 
gesture  of  benediction. 

The   two   ladies   paused    upon    the   stone   steps.     Ameiie 

591 


592 


THE    GOLDF.N    DOG. 


clasped  her  arm  round  Heloise,  whom  she  pressed  to  her 
bosom  and  said,  ••  'I'hink  before  you  knock  at  this  door 
and  cross  the  threshold  for  the  last  time,  Heloise !  Von 
must  not  do  it  for  my  sake,  darling." 

'*  No,  Amelie,"  replied  she  sadly.     "  It  is  not  wholly  for 
your  sake.      Would   1   could  say  it  were!     Alas!      If   1   re 
mained    in   the  world,   I   could  even  now  pity  Le  (iardeui. 
and  follow  him  to  the  world's  end;  but  it  must  not  —  canm-i 
be.      Do  not  seek  to  dissuade  me,  Amelie,  for  it  is  useless." 

"  Vour  mind  is  made  up,  then,  to  j2;o  in  with  me,  my 
Heloise .''  "  said  Amelie,  with  a  fond,  questioning  look. 

"  Fully,  finally,  and  forever ! "  replied  she,  with  energy 
that  left  no  room  for  doubt.  "  1  long  ago  resolved  to  ask 
the  community  to  let  me  die  with  them.  My  object,  dear 
sister,  is  like  yours  :  to  spend  my  life  in  prayers  and  sup- 
plications for  Le  Gardeur,  and  be  laid,  when  God  calls  me 
to  his  rest,  by  the  side  of  our  noble  aunt,  Mere  Madelaine 
,  de  Repentigny,  whose  lamp  still  burns  in  the  Chapel  of 
the  Saints,  as  if  to  light  you  and  me  to  follow  in  her  fool- 
steps." 

"  It  is  for  Le  Gardeur's  sake  I  too  go,"  replied  Amelie ; 
"  to  veil  my  face  from  the  eyes  of  a  world  1  am  ashamed  to 
see,  and  to  expiate,  if  I  can,  the  innocent  blood  that  has  been 
shed.  But  the  sun  shines  very  bright  for  those  to  whom 
its  beams  are  still  pleasant !  "  said  she,  looking  around  sadly. 
as  if  it  were  for  the  last  time  she  bade  adieu  to  the  sun. 
which  she  should  never  again  behold  under  the  free  vault  of 
heaven. 

Heloise  turned  slowly  to  the  door  of  the  Convent.  "Those 
golden  rays  that  shine  through  the  wicket,"  said  she,  "  ami 
form  a  cross  upon  the  pa\ement  within,  as  we  often  observed 
with  schoolgirl  admiration,  are  the  only  rays  to  gladden  nir 
now.  I  care  no  more  for  the  light  of  the  sun.  I  will  li\e 
henceforth  in  the  blessed  light  of  the  lamp  of  Repentignw 
My  mind  is  fixed,  and  I  will  not  leave  you,  Amelie.  'Where 
thou  goest  I  will  go,  where  thou  lodgest  I  will  lodge ;  thy 
people  shall  be  my  people,  and  thy  God  my  God.'" 

Amelie  kissed  her  cousin  tenderly.  "  So  be  it,  then. 
Heloise.  Your  heart  is  broken  as  well  as  mine.  We  will 
pray  together  for  Le  Gardeur,  beseeching  God  to  pity  and 
forgive." 


Till':    r.AMi'  ()|-   Ki;i'i:MMi.\v. 


593 


Aniclie  knocked  at  the  door  twice  before  a  sound  of 
light  footsteps  was  heard  within.  A  \eiled  nun  appeared 
at  the  little  wicket  and  looked  gravely  for  a  moment  upon 
the  two  postulantes  for  admission,  repeating  the  formula 
usual  on  such  occasions. 

'•  What  seek  you,  my  sisters  ?  " 

"To  come  in  and  find  rest,  good  Mere  des  Seraphins," 
replied  Amelie,  to  whom  the  portiere  was  well  known, 
"We  desire  to  leave  the  world  and  live  hencefoich  with  the 
community  in  the  service  and  adoration  of  our  blessed  Lord, 
and  to  pray  for  the  sins  of  others  as  well  as  our  own." 

"  It  is  a  pious  desire,  and  no  one  stands  at  the  door  and 
knocks  but  it  is  opened.  Wait,  my  sisters,  I  will  summon 
the  Lady  Superior  to  admit  you." 

The  nun  disappeared  for  a  few  minutes.  Her  voice 
was  heard  again  as  she  returned  to  the  wicket :  "  'I'he 
Lady  Superior  deputes  to  Mere  Esther  the  privilege,  on 
this  occasion,  of  receiving  the  welcome  postulantes  of  the 
house  of  Repentigny." 

The  portiere  retired  from  the  wicket.  The  heavy  door 
swung  noiselessly  back,  opening  the  way  into  a  small  ante- 
chamber, floored  with  smooth  flags,  and  containing  a  table 
and  a  seat  or  two.  G.i  either  side  of  the  interior  door  of 
the  antechamber  was  a  turnstile  or  tourelle,  which  enabled 
the  inmates  within  to  receive  anything  from  the  outside 
world  without  being  themselves  seen.  Ame'lie  and  Heloise 
passed  through  the  inner  door,  which  opened  as  of  its  own 
accord,  as  they  approached  it  with  trembling  steps  and 
troubled  mien. 

A  tall  nun,  of  commanding  figure  but  benign  aspect, 
received  the  two  ladies  with  the  utmost  affection,  as  well- 
known  friends. 

Mere  Esther  wore  a  black  robe  swec  ping  the  ground.  It 
was  bound  at  the  waist  by  a  leathern  girdle.  A  l)lack  veil 
fell  on  each  side  of  the  snowy  fillet  thai  covered  her  fore- 
head, and  half  covered  the  white  wimple  upon  her  neck 
and  bosom. 

At  the  first  sight  of  the  veil  thrown  over  the  heads  of 
Amelie  and  Heloise,  and  the  agitation  of  both,  she  knew  at 
once  that  the  time  of  these  two  girls,  like  that  of  many 
others,  had  come.     Their  arrival  was  a  repetition  of  the  old, 


594 


THE    CiOLDKN     I )()(), 


old  Story,  of  which  her  long  experience  iiad  witnessed  many 
instances, 

"  (jrood  inotiier,"  exclaimed  Amelie,  throwing  her  arms 
around  the  nun,  who  folded  her  tenderl)-  to  her  bosom, 
although  her  face  remained  calm  and  passionless,  "  we 
are  come  at  last !  Heloise  and  I  wish  to  live  and  tlii- 
in  the  monastery,  (iood  Mother  Ksther,  will  you  take  us 
in?" 

"Welcome  both!"  replied  Mere  Ksther,  kissing  each  ot 
them  on  the  forehead.  "The  virgins  who  enter  in  with  the 
bridegroom  to  the  marriage  are  those  whose  lamps  are 
burning  !  The  lamp  of  Repentigny  is  never  extinguished 
in  the  Chapel  of  Saints,  nor  is  the  door  of  the  monastery 
ever  shut  against  one  of  your  house." 

'•Thanks,  good  mother!  Hut  we  bring  a  heavy  burden 
with  us.  No  one  but  God  can  tell  the  weight  and  the  pain 
of  it !  "  said  Amelie  sadly. 

"  I  know,  Amelie,  I  know ;  but  what  says  our  blessed 
Lord?  'Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  are  weary  and  heavy- 
laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.'  " 

"I  seek  not  rest,  good  mother,"  replied  she  sadly,  "bul 
a  place  for  penance,  to  melt  Heaven  with  prayers  for  the 
innocent  blood  that  has  been  shed  to-day,  that  it  be  not 
recorded  forever  against  my  brother.  Oh,  Mere  Esther, 
you  know  my  brother,  Le  Gardeur;  how  generous  and  kind 
he  was !  \  ou  have  heard  of  the  terrible  occurrence  in  the 
market-place  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard,"  said  the  nun.  "  IJad  news  reaches 
us  ever  soonest.  It  fills  me  with  amazement  that  one  so 
noble  as  your  brother  should  have  done  so  terrible  a  deed." 

"  Oh,  Mere  Esther  !  "  exclaimed  Amelie  eagerly,  '•  it  was 
not  Le  Gardeur  in  his  senses  who  did  it.  No,  he  never 
knowingly  struck  the  blow  that  has  killed  me  as  well  as 
the  good  Bourgeois !  Alas !  he  knew  not  what  he  did.  But 
still  he  has  done  it,  and  my  remaining  time  left  on  earth 
must  be  spent  in  sackcloth  and  ashes,  beseeching  God  for 
pardon  and  mercy  for  him." 

"  The  community  will  join  you  in  your  prayers,  Amelie," 
replied  the  Mere. 

Esther  stood  wrapt  in  thought  for  a  few  moments. 
"  Heloise !  "  said  she,  addressing  the  fair  cousin  of  Ame'lie, 


THK     LAMP    <)1'     RKI'1:N TK.NN'. 


595 


essed  maiiv 


"  I  have  long  expected  you  in  the  monastery.  Voii  strug- 
gled hard  for  the  world  and  its  delights,  hut  (lod's  hand 
was  stronger  than  your  purposes.  When  He  calls,  be  it  in 
the  darkest  night,  happy  is  she  who  rises  instantlv  to  follow 
her  Lord  !  " 

"He  has  indeed  called  me,  O  mother!  and  I  desire  onl\ 
to  become  a  faithful  servant  of  His  tabernacle  forever.  I 
pray,  good  Mere  Ksther,  for  your  intercession  with  the  Mere 
de  la  Nativite.  The  venerable  Lady  Superior  used  to  sa\ 
we  were  dowerless  brides,  we  of  the  house  of  Lotbiniere." 

"Hut  you  shall  not  be  dowerless,  Heloise!"  burst  out 
Amelie.  "  \'ou  shall  enter  the  convent  with  as  rich  a  dowrv 
as  e\er  accompanied  an  irrsuline." 

"No,  Amelie;  if  they  will  not  accept  me  for  myself,  I 
will  imitate  my  aunt,  the  admirable  (jiii'tcusc,  who,  being, 
like  me,  a  dowerless  postulante,  begged  from  house  to  house 
throughout  the  city  for  the  means  to  open  to  her  the  door 
of  the  monastery, 

"Heloise,"  replied  Mere  Ksther,  "this  is  idle  fear.  We 
have  waited  for  you,  knowing  that  one  day  you  would  come, 
and  you  will  be  most  welcome,  dowered  or  not ! '' 

"  You  are  e\er  kind.  Mere  Esther,  but  how  could  you 
know  I  should  come  to  you  ? "  asked  Heloise  with  a  look 
of  inquiry. 

"  Alas,  Heloise,  we  know  more  of  the  world  and  its  do- 
ings than  is  well  for  us.  Our  monastery  is  like  tlie  ear  of 
Dionysius:  not  a  whisper  in  the  city  escapes  it.  Oh,  darling, 
we  knew  you  had  failed  in  3()ur  one  great  desire  upon  earth, 
and  that  you  would  seek  consolation  where  it  is  only  to  be 
found,  in  the  arms  of  your  Lord." 

"It  is  true,  mother;  I  had  but  one  desire  upon  earth,  and 
it  is  crushed;  one  little  bird  that  nestled  a  while  in  my 
bosom,  and  it  has  flown  away.  The  event  of  to-day  has 
stricken  nie  and  Amelie  alike,  and  we  come  together  to  wear 
out  the  stones  of  your  pavement  praying  for  the  hapless 
brother  of  Amelie." 

"And  the  object  of  Heloise's  faithful  love!"  replied  the 
nun  with  tender  sympathy.  "Oh!  how  could  Le  Gardeur 
de  Repentigny  refuse  a  heart  like  yours,  Heloise,  for  the 
sake  of  that  wild  daughter  of  levity,  Angelique  des  Me- 
loises .'' 


596 


THE    (JOI.nHN     DOG. 


"  I»ut  come,  I  will  conduct  you  to  the  venerable  Lady  Su 
perior,  who   is  in   the  garden  conversing  with   (}rand'niere 
St.    Pierre,  and    your  old    friend   and    mistress,    Mere    Ste. 
Helene." 

The  news  of  the  tragedy  in  the  market-place  had  ijeen 
early  carried  to  the  ''invent  1  y  the  u1)i(:iuitous  lionhonniic 
Michael,  who  was  out  that  day  on  one  of  his  multifarious 
errands  in  the  service  of  the  community. 

The  news  had  passed  quickly  through  the  Convent,  agitat- 
ing the  usually  quiet  nuns,  and  causing  the  wildest  connno- 
tion  among  the  classes  of  girls,  who  were  assembled  at  their 
morning  lessons  in  the  great  schoolroom.  'I'he  windows 
were  clustered  v.ith  }'oung,  comely  heads,  looking  out  in 
every  direction,  while  nuns  in  alarm  streamed  from  the  lonu 
passages  to  the  lawn,  where  sat  the  venerable  Superior, 
Mere  Migeon  de  la  Nativite,  under  a  broad  ash-tree,  sacrecl 
to  the  Convent  bv  the  nifinories  that  clustered  aroiuid  il. 
The  Ste.  Therese  of  Canada,  Mere  Marie  de  1' Incarnation. 
for  lack  of  a  better  roof,  in  the  first  days  of  her  mission, 
u^'cd  to  gather  around  her  under  that  tree  the  wild  Hurons 
as  well  as  the  young  children  of  the  colonists,  to  give  them 
their  first  lessons  in  religion  and  letters. 

Mere  Ksther  held  up  her  finger  warningly  to  the  nuns  not 
to  speak,  as  she  passed  onward  through  the  IcMig  corridors, 
dim  with  narrow  lights  and  guarded  by  images  of  saints, 
until  she  came  into  an  open  square  fkigged  with  stones. 
In  the  walls  of  this  court  a  door  opened  upon  the  garden 
into  which  a  few  steps  downwards  conducted  them. 

'J'he  garden  of  the  monastery  was  spacious  and  kept  with 
great  care.  The  walk^  meanflered  around  beds  of  flowers,  and 
under  the  lioughs  of  ap'ple-tucs,  and  by  espaliers  of  ancient 
pears  and  plums. 

The  fruit  had  long  been  gathend  in,  and  (mly  a  few  yellow 
leaves  hung  upon  the  autumnal  trees,  but  th«!  grass  was  still 
green  on  the  lawn  where  stood  tlie  great  ash -tree  of  Mere 
Marie  de  I'lncarnation.  The  last  harc'y  flowers  of  autumn 
lingered  in  this  sheltered  spot. 

In  these  secluded  alleys  the  cpiiet  recluses  usually  walked 
and  UKxlitated  in  [)eace,  for  here  man's  disturbing  voice  was 
never  heard. 

But  to-day  a  cluster  of  agitated  nuns  gathered  around  the 


THE    LAMP    OF    KEI'ENTIGN V. 


597 


great  ash-tree,  and  here  and  there  stood  groujxs  of  bhick 
and  white  veils;  some  were  talking,  while  others  knelt 
silently  belore  the  guardian  of  the  house,  the  image  of  St. 
Josepli,  which  overlooked  this  spot,  considered  jjarlicularly 
sacred  to  prayer  and  meditation. 

The  sight  of  Mere  Esther,  followed  by  the  well-known 
hgures  of  Amelie  and  Heloise,  caused  e\ery  he; id  to  turn 
with  a  look  of  recognition;  but  the  nuns  were  too  well  disci- 
plined to  express  either  surpri.>e  or  curiosity  in  the  presence 
of  Mere  Migeon,  lunvever  much  they  felt  of  both.  'I'liey 
stood  apart  at  a  sign  from  the  Lady  Superior,  leaving  her 
with  a  nun  attendant  on  each  side  to  receive  Mere  Ksiher 
and  her  two  companions. 

Mere  Migeon  cle  la  Nativitt'  was  old  in  years,  but  fresh  in 
looks  and  alert  in  spirit.  Her  features  were  set  in  that 
peculiar  expression  of  drooping  eyelids  and  placitl  lips 
wlii^h  belongs  to  the  Convent,  but  she  could  look  up  and 
flash  oul  on  occasion  with  an  air  of  connnand  derived  from 
high  birth  and  a  long  exercise  (if  authority  as  Sujierior  of 
the  Lhsulines,  to  which  office  the  conmuuiitv  had  elected 
her  as  many  trienniums  as  their  rules  permitted. 

Mere  Migeon  had  been  nearly  half  a  century  a  nun,  and 
fell  as  much  pride  as  humility  in  the  refle.nion.  She  liked 
pcjwer,  which,  however,  she  exercised  whoU)'  for  the  benefit 
of  her  subjects  in  the  ('onxeut.  and  wore  her  veil  with  as 
much  dignity  as  the  Queen  her  crown.  lUit,  if  not  exempt 
from  some  traces  of  human  inhrmity,  she  made  amends  by 
devoting  herself  night  and  day  to  the  spiritual  and  temporal 
welfare  of  the  conununity,  who  submitted  U)  h'T  government 
with  extjeme  deference  and  untiuestioning  obedience. 

Mere  Migeon  had  directed  the  two  sorrowing  ladies  to 
he  brought  into  the  gaiilen,  where  slie  would  retHM\e  tiiem 
under  the  (jld  tree  of  Meie  Marie  de  I'lncarnation 

She  rose  with  at'fection;Ue  eagerness  as  llic)  entered, 
and  embraced  them  one  after  the  other,  kissing  them  on 
the  ciieek  ;  "her  little  prodigals  returning  to  lIk'  house  of 
their  father  and  mother,  after  feeding  (jn  the  husks  of  vanity 
in  the  gay  world  which  was  ne\'er  nuule  for  them." 

"We   will    kill    the    fatted    calf    in    honor   of    \()ur    return, 
Amelie.     \\\\\    we   not,   Mere   Ivsther  .^ "  said   the    Lady   Su 
perior,   addressing  Amelie  rather  than   Ileloise. 


598 


THE    (JOLDEN    FJOG. 


*'  Not  for  nie,  reverend  Mere ;  you  shall  kill  no  fatted 
calf,  real  or  symbolical,  for  me  !  "  exclaim(id  Amelie.  "  I 
come  only  to  hide  myself  in  your  cloister,  *o  submit  myself 
to  your  most  austere  discipline.  I  have  given  up  all.  Oh, 
my  Mere,  I  have  given  up  all  !  None  but  Ciod  can  know 
what  1  have  given  up  forever!" 

"  You  were  to  have  married  the  son  of  the  Ilourgeois. 
were  you  not,  Amelie  ? "  asked  the  Superior,  who,  as  the 
aunt  of  Varin,  and  by  family  ties  connected  with  certain 
leading  spirits  of  the  (Irand  (Company,  had  no  liking  iov 
the  ilourgeois  Fhilibert;  her  feelings,  too,  had  been  wrought 
upon  by  a  recital  of  the  sermc  n  preached  in  the  market- 
place that  morning. 

"  Oh,  speak  not  of  it  good  Mere !  I  was  betrothed  to 
Pierre  I'hilibert,  and  how  am  I  reciuiting  his  love  ?  I 
should  ha\'e  been  his  wife,  but  for  this  dreadful  deed  of 
my  brother.     The  Convent  is  all  that  is  left  to  me  now." 

"  Your  aunt  called  herself  the  humble  handmaid  of  Mary, 
and  the  lamp  of  Repentigny  will  burn  all  the  brigliter 
trimmed  by  a  dauj;hter  of  her  nobl  house,"  answered 
Mere   Migeon. 

"  J>y  tw(j  daughters,  good  Mere  !  Heloise  is  equally  .i 
daughter  of  our  house,"  replied  Amt'lie,  with  a  touch  of 
feeling. 

Mere  Ksther  wiilsp.3red  a  few  words  in  the  ear  of  the  Supc 
rior,  advising  her  to  concede  every  recjuest  of  Amelie  and 
Heloise,  and  returned  to  the  wicket  to  answer  some  other 
ha.sty  call  from  the  troubled  city. 

Messengers  despatched  by  bonhonnne  Michael  followed 
one  another  at  short  inter\als.  bringing'  to  the  Conveni 
exact  details  of  all  that  occurred  in  the  streets,  with  the 
welcome  tidings  at  last  that  the  tiire.itened  outbreak  h;id 
been  ax'erted  b\'  tiie  proini)t  interposition  ol  tlie  (lovernoi 
anil  troo|is.  ("omjxirative  (|uietiu'ss  again  leigncd  in  e\'er\ 
quarter  of  tiie  city. 

Le  Oardeur  de  Repentigny  had  voluntarily  surrendered 
himself  to  the  guard  and  gi\en  up  his  sword,  l)eing  o\ei' 
whelmed  with  remorse  for  his  act.  lb;  h;ul  been  placed, 
not  in  irons  as  he  had^  demanded,  but  as  a  i)risoner  in  the 
strong  ward  of  the  ( 'astle  of  St.  I.ouis. 

"  I    pray    you,    reverend    Mere    Su]ierior,"    said    Amelie, 


THE    LAMP    OF    REPENTIGNY. 


599 


said    Amclie, 


"permit  us  now  to  go  into  the  CMiapel  of  Saints  to  lay  our 
hearts,  as  did  our  kinswoman,  Madehiine  de  Repentigny, 
at  the  feet  of  our  Lady  of  Grand  Pouvoir." 

"Go,  my  children,  and  our  prayers  shall  go  with  you." 
replied  the  Superior;  "the  lamp  of  Repentigny  will  burn 
brighter  than  ever  to-night  to  welcome  you." 

The  Chapel  of  Saints  was  held  in  reverence  as  the  most 
sacred  place  in  the  monastery.  It  contained  the  shrines 
and  '■^lics  of  many  saints  and  martyrs.  The  devout  nuns 
lavished  upon  it  their  choicest  works  of  em1>roidery,  paint- 
ing, and  gilding,  in  the  arts  of  which  the)  were  eminent. 
The  old  Sacristaine  was  kneeling  before  the  altar  as  Ameiie 
and  Heloise  entered  the  Chapel. 

An  image  of  the  Virgin  occupied  a  niche  in  the  Chapel 
wall,  and  before  it  burned  the  silver  lamp  of  Repentigny 
which  had  been  hung  there  two  generations  before,  in  mem- 
ory of  the  miraculous  call  of  Madelaine  de  Repentigny  and 
her  victory  over  the  world. 

The  high-bred  and  beautiful  Madelaine  had  been  the 
delight  and  pride  of  Ville  Marie.  Stricken  with  grief  by 
the  death  of  a  young  officer  to  whom  she  was  aftianced, 
she  retired  to  Quebec,  and  knelt  daily  pt  the  feet  of  our 
Lady  of  I'ouvoir,  beseeching  her  for  a  sign  if  it  was  her 
will  thai  she  should  become  an  Ursuline. 

The  sign  was  given,  and  Madelaine  de  Repentigny  at 
once  exchanged  her  gay  robes  for  the  coarse  black  gown 
and  veil,  and  hung  up  this  votive  lamp  before  the  Madonna 
as  a  perpetual  memorial  of  her  miraculous  call. 

Seven  generations  of  men  have  passed  away  since  then. 
The  house  of  Repentigny  has  disappeared  from  their  na- 
tive land,  'i'heir  name  and  fame  lie  buried  in  ol)livion, 
except  in  that  little  (Miapel  of  the  Saints  where  their  lamp 
still  burns  brightly  as  ever.  The  pious  nuns  of  St.  I'rsule, 
as  the  last  custodians  of  the  traditions  of  Tiew  France, 
preserve  that  sole  memori;;]  of  the  glories  and  misfortunes 
of  the  noble  house,  —  the  lamp  of  Repentigny. 

.\inelie  and  Heloise  remained  long  in  the  (  hapel  of 
Saints,  kneeling  upon  the  Iiard  lloor  as  they  ]irayed  with 
tears  and  sobs  lor  the  soul  of  the  llourgeois,  and  for  God's 
pity  and  forgiveness  unoi    Le  Gardeur. 

To  Amelie's  woes  was  added  the   terrible  consciousness 


6oo 


THK    GOLDEN    DO(i. 


that,  by  this  deed  of  her  brother,  Pierre  Philibert  was  torn 
from  her  forever.  She  joictured  to  herself  his  grief,  his  love, 
his  despair,  perhaps  his  vengeance ;  and  to  add  to  all,  she, 
his  betrothed  bride,  had  forsaken  him  and  tied  like  a  guilty 
thing,  without  wailing  to  see  whether  he  condemned  her. 

An  hour  ago  Amelie  had  been  the  envy  and  delight  of 
her  gay  bridesmaids.  Her  heart  had  overflowed  like  a 
fountain  of  wine,  intoxicating  all  about  her  with  joy  at  the 
hope  of  the  speedy  coming  of  her  bridegroom.  Suddenly 
the  idols  of  her  life  had  l)een  shattered  as  by  a  thunder- 
bolt, and  lay  in  fragments  around  her  feet. 

The  thought  came  upon  her  like  the  rush  of  angry  wings. 
She  knew  that  all  was  over  between  her  and  Pierre.  The 
cloister  and  the  veil  were  all  that  were  left  to  Amelie  de 
Repentigny. 

"  Heloise,  dearest  sister  ! "  exclaimed  she,  "  my  conscience 
tells  me  I  have  done  right,  but  my  heart  accuses  me  of 
wrong  to  Pierre,  of  falseness  to  my  plighted  vows  in  for- 
saking him ;  and  yet,  not  for  heaven  itself  would  I  have 
forsaken  Pierre.  Would  that  I  were  dead  !  Oh,  what  have 
I  done,  Heloise,  to  deserve  such  a  chastisement  as  this 
from  God?" 

Amt'lie  threw  her  arms  around  the  neck  of  fieloise,  and 
leaning  her  head  on  licr  bosom,  wept  long  and  without  re- 
straint, for  none  saw  them  save  God. 

"  Listen  !  "  said  Heloise,  as  the  swelling  strain  of  the  organ 
floated  up  from  the  convt  it  chapel.  The  soft  voices  of  the 
nuns  mingled  in  plaintive  harmony  as  they  sang  the  hymn 
of  the  Virgin : 

"  I'ia  Mater !   Vows  amoris  I 
Me  .sentire  vim  doloiis 
Fac,  lit  tcriiiii  lui4i;ani  !  " 

Again  came  the  .soft  pleading  notes  of  the  sacred  hymn  : 

"  (,)uaiul()  corpus  mmiftur, 
Vnc  ut  aniniiu;  doiuitur 
I'aiadisi  ,nli)ria  !      yViiuMi  !  " 

The  harmonv  iilled  the  ears  of  Amelie  and  Heloi.se,  like 
the  la]i  of  the  waves  of  eternity  ujjon  the  world's  shore.  It 
died  away,  and  they  continued  praying  before  Our  Lady  of 
Grand  Pouvoir. 


THE    LAMP    OF    KEI'EXTIGNV. 


60 1 


The  silence  was  suddenly  broken.  Hasty  steps  traversed 
the  little  chapel.  A  rush  of  garments  caused  Amelie  and 
Heloise  to  turn  around,  and  in  an  instant  they  were  both 
clasped  in  the  passionate  embrace  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly, 
who  had  arrived  at  the  Convent. 

"  My  dear  children,  my  poor,  stricken  daughters,"  ex- 
claimed she,  kissing  them  passionately  and  mingling  her 
tears  with  theirs.  '*  what  have  you  done  to  be  dashed  to 
the  earth  by  such  a  stroke  of  divine  wrath  ? " 

"  Oh,  aunt,  pardon  us  for  what  we  have  done  ! "  exclaimed 
Amelie,  "and  for  not  asking  your  consent,  but  alas!  it  is 
God's  will  and  doing  !  I  have  given  up  the  world ;  do  not 
blame  me,  aunt !  " 

"  Nor  me,  aunt ! "  added  Heloise ;  "I  have  long  known 
that  the  cloister  was  my  sole  heritage,  and  I  now  claim  it." 

"Blame  you,  darling!  Oh,  Amelie,  in  the  shame  and 
agony  of  this  day  I  could  share  the  cloister  with  you  myself 
forever,  but  my  work  is  oui  in  the  wide  vorld,  and  1  must 
not  withdraw  my  hand  !  " 

"  Have  you  seen  Le  Gardeur  ?  Oh,  aunt  !  have  you  seen 
my  brother  ?  "  asked  Ame'lie,  seizing  her  hand  passionately. 

"  1  have  seen  him,  and  wept  over  him,"  was  the  reply. 
"Oh,  Amelie  !  great  as  is  his  offence,  his  crime,  —  yes,  I  v.ill 
be  honest  calling  it  such,  no  deeper  contrition  could  rend 
his  heart  had  he  connnitted  all  the  sins  forbidden  in  the 
Decalogue.  He  demands  a  court  martial  to  condenni  him 
at  once  to  death,  upon  his  own  self-accusation  and  con- 
fession of  the  murder  of  the  good   Jiourgeois." 

"Oh,  aunt,  and  he  loved  the  iJourgeois  so!  It  seems 
like  a  hideous  dream  of  fright  and  nightmare  that  Le  Gar- 
deur should  assail  the  father  of  I'ierre  rhilil)ert,  and  mine 
that  was  to  be  !  " 

At  this  thought  the  poor  girl  thing  herself  upon  the  bosom 
of  the  Lady  de  Tilly,  convulsed  and  torn  i)y  as  bitter  sobs 
as  ever  drew  human  pity. 

"  Le  Gardeur!  Le  Gardeur!  Gocxl  God!  what  will  they 
do  with  him,  aunt.''  Is  he  to  die  ?  "  ciied  she  ini]il()ringly, 
as  with  streaming  eyes  she  looked  up  al  her  aunt. 

"Listen,  Amelie!  Compose  N'ourself  and  nou  shall  hear. 
I  was  in  the  Church  of  Notre    Dame  de^  Xictoires  when  I 


received  the  tidings.      1 1    was    hjng 


bef(jre    the    messen;rer 


602 


THE    GOLDEN    UOG. 


found  me.  I  rose  instantly  and  hastened  to  the  house  of 
the  Dourgeois,  where  its  good  master  lay  dead  in  his  bloody 
vesture.  I  cannot  describe  the  sad  sight,  Ame'lie  !  1  there 
learned  that  the  (iovernor  and  La  Corne  St.  Luc  had  been 
to  tin;  house  of  the  Bourgeois  and  had  returned  to  the 
Castle." 

"Oh,  aunt,  did  you  see  him?  Did  you  see  the  good  old 
liourgeois  ?      And  you  know  he  is  dead  .''  " 

"  \'es,  Amelie,  I  saw  him,  and  could  have  w-ished  my  eye- 
sight blasted  fore\er  after.     J  )o  not  ask  me  more." 

"  But  1  must,  aunt  !  Did  you  see  —  oh,  why  may  I  not 
yet  utter  his  dear  name  ?       did  you  see  Pierre  ?  " 

"  V'es,  Amelie.  Pierre  came  home  unexpectedly  while  i 
was  weeping  over  the  dead  corpse  of  his  father.  Poor 
Pierre !  my  own  sorrows  were  naught  to  his  silent  griei  ! 
It  was  more  terrible  than  the  wildest  outburst  of  passion  1 
ever  saw  !  " 

"  And  what  did  he  say  .-'  Oh,  aunt,  tell  me  all  !  Do  not 
spare  me  one  word,  however  bitter!  Did  he  not  curse  you? 
Did  he  not  curse  me?  And  above  all,  Le  (lardeur  ?  Oh, 
he  cursed  us  all  ;  he  heaped  a  blasting  malediction  upon  the 
whole  house  of  Repentigny,  did  he  not  ?  " 

"  Amelie,  be  composed  I  Do  not  look  at  me  so  wildly  with 
these  dear  eyes,  and  I  will  tell  you."  Her  aunt  tried  to 
soothe  her  with  fond  caresses. 

"  I  will  be  composed  !  I  am  calm  !  Look  now,  aunt,  1 
am  calm  !  "  exclaimed  the  grief-stricken  girl,  whose  every 
nerve  was  quivering  with  wild  excitement. 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  and  Helrjse  made  her  sit  down, 
while  each  held  forcil)ly  a  hand  to  prevent  an  access  of 
hysteria.  Mere  Ste.  Vierge  rose  and  hastily  left  the  chapel 
to  fetch  water. 

"  Amelie,  the  nobleness  of  Pierre  Philibert  is  almost 
beyond  the  range  of  fallible  mortals,"  said  the  Lady  de 
Tilly.  "  In  the  sudden  crash  of  all  his  hopes  he  would  not 
utter  a  word  of  invecti\e  against  your  brother.  His  heart 
tells  him  thai  Le  Oardeur  has  been  made  the  senseless  in- 
strument of  others  in  this  crime." 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  dearest  aunt,  for  your  true  appre- 
ciation of  Pierre  !  1  know  he  deserves  it  all  ;  and  when  the 
\eil  c()\ers  my  head  forever  from  the  eyes  of  men,  it  will  be 


THE    LAMP    OK    RErEXTlCNV. 


60 


he  house  of 
n  his  bloody 
ie  !  I  there 
uc  had  been 
rned    to  the 

he  good  old 

ihed  my  eye- 

e. 

y  may  1   not 

;edly  while  I 
ather.  Poor 
silent  griet  ! 
of  passion  1 

all  !  Do  not 
)t  curse  you  ? 
rdeur  ?  Oh, 
ion  upon  the 

o  wildly  with 
lunt  tried  to 

now,  aunt,  I 
whose  every 

er  sit  down, 
an  access  of 
ft  the  chapel 

rt  is  almost 
he  Lady  de 
he  would  not 
His  heart 
senseless  in- 

■  true  appre- 
ind  when  the 
len,  it  will  be 


my  sole  joy  to  reHect  that  Pierre  Philibert  was  worthy,  more 
than  worthy,  of  my  love  !  But  what  said  he  further,  aunt  ? 
Oh,  tell  me  all  !  " 

"  He  rose  from  his  knees  beside  the  corpse  of  his  father," 
continued  the  lady,  "  and  seeing  me  kneeling,  raised  me 
and  seated  me  in  a  chair  beside  him.  He  asked  me  where 
you  were,  and  who  was  with  you  to  support  and  comfort 
you  in  this  storm  of  al'tliction.  I  told  him,  and  he  kissed  me, 
exclaiming,  '  Oh,  aunt,  -     mother,  what  shall  I  do  ?  '  '' 

"Oh,  aunt!  did  Pierre  say  that?  Did  he  call  you  aunt 
and  mother  ?  And  he  did  not  curse  me  at  all  ?  Poor 
Pierre  !  "  And  she  burst  out  into  a  flood  of  tears  which 
nothing  could  control. 

"  \'es,  Amelie  !  His  heart  is  bleeding  to  death  with  this 
dreadful  sword-stroke  of  Le  Gardeur's,"  said  the  Lady  de 
Tilly,  after  waiting  till  she  recovered  somewhat. 

"  And  will  he  not  siny  Le  Gardeur  ?  Will  he  not  deem  it 
his  duty  to  kill  my  brother  and  his  ?  "  cried  she.  "  He  is  a 
soldier  and  nuist  !  " 

"  Listen,  Ame'lie.  'There  is  a  divinity  in  Pierre  that  we 
see  only  in  the  noblest  of  men  ;  he  will  not  slay  Le  Gardeur. 
He  is  his  brother  and  yours,  and  will  regard  him  as  sucl.. 
\\'hate\er  he  might  have  done  in  the  first  impulse  of  anger, 
Pierre  will  not  now  seek  the  life  of  Le  (kirdeur.  He  knows 
too  well  whence  this  blow  has  really  come.  He  has  been 
deeply  touched  by  the  remorse  and  self-accusation  of  Le 
Gardeur." 

"  I  could  kiss  his  feet !  my  noble  Pierre  !  Oh,  aunt,  aunt ! 
what  have  I  not  lost  !  Hut  I  was  betrothed  to  him,  was  I 
not .'' "  She  started  up  with  a  shriek  of  mortal  agony. 
"  'Phey  never  can  recall  thai  !  ""  she  cried  wildly.  "  lie  was 
to  have  been  mine  !  Me  is  still  mine,  and  forever  will  be 
mine  !  Death  will  reunite  what  in  life  is  sundered  I  Will 
it  not.  aunt  .^" 

"  Yes  ;  be  composed,  darling,  and  1  will  tell  you  more. 
Nay,  do  not  look  at  me  so,  Amelie  ! "'  The  Lady  de  Tilly 
stroked  her  cheek  and  kissed  the  dark  eyes  that  seemed 
tlaring  out  of  their  sockets  with  mafldening  excitement. 

"  When  I  had  recovered  strength  enough  to  go  to  the 
Castle  to  see  the  Count,  Pierre  supported  me  thither.  He 
dared   not   trust    himself  to  see   Le  Gardeur,  who  from  his 


6o4 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


prison  sent  message  after  message  to  him  to  beg  death  at 
his  hand. 

"  I  held  a  brief  conference  witli  the  Governor,  La  Cornc 
St.  Luc,  and  a  few  gentlemen,  who  were  hastily  gathered 
together  in  the  council-chamber.  I  pleaded  long,  not  for 
pardon,  not  even  for  Le  (lardeur  could  1  ask  for  pardon. 
Amelie  !  "  exclaimetl  the  just  and  noble  woman,  —  "but  for  a 
calm  consideration  of  the  terrible  circumstances  which  had 
surrounded  him  in  the  l';dace  of  the  Intendant,  and  which 
had  led  directly  to  uie  catastrophe." 

"  And  w.'uit  said  they  ?  Oh,  be  ([uick,  aunt  !  Is  not  Le 
(lardeur  to  be  tried  by  martial  law  and  condemned  at  once 
to  death  ?  " 

"  No,  Amelie  !  The  Count  de  la  Galissoniere,  with  the 
advice  of  his  wisest  coun-,ellors,  among  whom  is  your  god- 
father and  others,  the  dear'jst  friends  of  both  families,  have 
resolved  to  send  J^e  Gardeur  to  France  by  the  F/ciir  dc  Lys, 
which  sails  to-morrow.  They  do  this  in  order  that  the 
King  may  judge  of  his  offence,  as  also  to  prevent  the  con- 
flict that  may  arise  between  the  contendmg  factions  in 
the  Colony,  should  they  try  him  here.  This  resolution 
may  be  wise,  or  not,  I  do  not  judge  ;  but  such  is  the  deter- 
mination of  the  Go\ernor  and  Council,  to  which  all  must 
submit." 

Ame'lie  held  her  head  between  her  palms  for  some  mo- 
ments.     She  was   violenllv  agitated,    but   she   tried    to   vm 
sider,    as  best   she   might,  the   decision  with   regard  to   her 
brother. 

"  it  is  merciful  in  them,"  she  said,  "  and  it  is  just.     The 
King  will  judge  what  is  right  in  tiie  sight  of  God  and  man. 
Le  Gardeur  was  but  a  blind  instrument  of  others  in  this  nun 
der,  as  blind  almost  as  the  sword  he  held  in  his  Iiavid.      liut 
shall  I  not  see  liim,  ^unt,  before  he  is  sent  away  ?  " 

"  Alas,  no  !  The  Governor,  while  kind,  is  inexorable  on 
one  point.  He  will  permit  iio  one,  after  this,  to  see  Le  Gar- 
deur, to  express  either  lilame  or  approval  of  his  deed,  or  to 
report  his  words.  lie  will  forbid  you  and  me  and  his  near- 
est friends  from  iiolding  any  ctjunnunication  with  him  before 
he  leaves  the  Culou} .  The  Count  has  remitted  his  case  to 
the  King,  and  resolviid  that  it  shall  be  accompanied  by  no 
self-accusation   which  Le  (Jardeiir  mav  utler  in  his  frantic 


Till':    LAMP    OK    KKlMONTIc.W. 


605 


grief.      The  Count  does  this  in   justice  as  well   as   mercy, 
Amelie." 

*'  Then  I  shall  never  see  my  brother  more  in  this  world,  — 
never  !  "  exclaimed  Amelie,  supporting  herself  on  the  arm  of 
Heloise.    '*  His  fate  is  decided  as  well  as  mine,  and  yours  too, 

0  Heloise." 

"  It  may  not  be  so  hard  with  him  as  with  us.  Amelie," 
replied  Heloise,  whose  bosom  was  agitated  with  fresh  emo- 
tions at  every  allusion  to  Le  Oardeur.  "The  King  may 
pardon  him,  Amelie."  Heloise  in  her  soul  hoped  so,  and  in 
her  heart  prayed  so. 

"  Alas !  If  we  could  say  God  pardoned  him  !  "  replied 
Amelie,  her  thoughts  running  suddenly  in  a  counter-current. 
*'  Hut  my  life  must  be  spent  in  imploring  (lod's  grace  and 
forgiveness  all  the  same,  whether  man  forgive  him  or  no." 

"  Si'jy  not  my  life,  but  our  lives,  Amelie.  We  have  crossed 
the  threshold  of  this  house  together  for  the  last  time.  We 
go  no  more  out  to  look  upon  a  world  fair  and  beautiful  to 
see,  but  so  full  of  disappointment  and  wretchedness  to  have 
experience  of ! " 

"  My  daughters,"  exclaimed  the  Lady  de  Tilly,  "another 
time  we  will  speak  of  this.  Harken,  Amelie  !  I  did  not  tell 
you  that  Pierre  IMiilibert  came  with  me  to  the  gate  of  the  Con- 
vent to  see  you.  He  would  have  entered,  but  the  Lady  Supe- 
rior refused  inexorably  to  admit  him  even  to  the  parlor." 

"  Pierre  came  to  the  Convent,  — to  the  Convent .-'  "  repeated 
Ame'lie  with  fond  iteration,  "  and  they  would  not  admit  him. 
Why  would  they  not  admit  him  ?  Ikit  I  should  have  died  of 
shame  to  see  him.  'J'hey  were  kind  in  their  cruelty.  Poor 
Pierre !  he  thinks  me  still  worthy  of  some  regard."  She 
commenced  weeping  afresh. 

"  He  would  fain  have  seen  you,  darling,"  said  her  aunt. 
"Your  lliiiht  to  the  Con\-ent --  lie  knows  what  it  means  — 
overwhelms  him  with  a  new  calamity." 

"  And  \et  it  cannot  be  otherwise.  I  dare  not  place  my 
hand  in  his  now,  for  it  would  redden  it  !  Put  it  is  sweet 
amid  my  aflliclion  to  know  tiiat  Pierre  has  not  forgotten  me, 
that  he  does  not  hate  me,  nay,  that  he  still  loves  me,  although 

1  abandon  the  world  and  him  who  to  me  was  the  light  of  it. 
Why  would  they  not  admit  him  ? " 

"Mere  Migeon  is  as  hard  as  she  is  just,  Amelie.      I  think 


6o6 


TIIK    (JOLDI.N    DOG. 


too  she  has  no  love  for  the  I'hiliberts.  Her  nephew  Variii 
has  all  the  inlluence  (A  a  spoilt  son  over  the  Laily  Superior." 

Anielie  scarcely  regarded  the  last  remark  of  her  aunt,  but 
repeated  the  words,  *'  Hard  and  just !  V'es,  it  is  true,  and 
hardness  and  justice  are  what  I  crave  in  my  misery.  The 
Hintiest  couch  shall  be  to  me  a  bed  of  down,  the  scantiest 
fare  a  royal  feast,  the  hardest  jicnance  a  life  of  pleasuie. 
Tvlere  Mi<j;eon  cannot  be  more  hard  nor  more  just  to  me  than 
I  would  be  to  myself." 

"  My  poor  Amelie  !  My  poor  Heloise  !  "  repeated  the 
lady,  stroking;  their  hair  and  kissin<;  them  l)oth  alternatel)  ; 
"be  it  as  (iod  wills.  When  it  is  dark  every  jjrospect  lies  hid 
in  the  darkness,  but  it  is  there  all  the  same,  thouj;h  we  see  it. 
not;  but  when  the  day  returns  everythini;  is  revealed.  \\\: 
.see  nau<j;ht  before  us  now  but  the  image  of  our  Lady  oi 
Grand  Pouvoir  illumined  by  the  lamp  of  Kepentigny,  but  the 
sun  of  rijrhteousness  will  vet  arise  with  healing  on  his  wings 
for  us  all  !  Ikit  oh,  my  children,  let  nothing  be  done  hasiil)-, 
rashly,  or  unbecoming  the  daughters  of  our  honorable  house." 


iphew  Vuriii 
ly  Superior." 
ler  aunt,  bul 

is  true,  ;uk1 
lisery.  The 
the  scantiest 

of  pleasure. 
it  to  nie  than 

•epeated    the 

alternately  ; 

ipect  lies  hid 

ugh  we  see  it 

:vealed.     We 

our  I.ady  oi 

tigny,  but  the 

on  his  wings 

done  hastily, 

rable  house." 


CHAPTER    LI  1 1. 

"  LOVELY  IN  DEATH  THE  REAUTEOUS  RUIN  LAY." 

THK  chant  of  vespers  had  long  ceased.  The  Angelus 
had  rung  its  last  summons  to  invoke  a  blessing  ujir-n 
life  and  death  at  the  close  of  the  day.  The  tjuiet  nuns  tiled 
off  from  their  frugal  meal  in  the  long  refectory  and  betook 
themselves  to  the  conuuunity  or  to  their  peaceful  cells.  The 
troop  of  children  in  their  charge  had  beeti  sent  with  prayer 
to  their  little  couches  in  the  dormitory,  sacred  to  sleep  and 
happy  dreams. 

Candles  Hickered  through  the  long  passages  as  veiled  fig- 
ures slowly  and  noiselessly  passed  towards  the  cha[)cl  to 
their  prixate  devotions.  Scarcely  a  footfall  reached  the  ear, 
nor  sound  of  any  kind,  except  the  sweet  voice  of  Mere  Made- 
laine  de  St.  I>orgia.  Like  the  How  of  a  full  stream  in  the 
still  moonlight,  she  sang  her  canticle  of  praise  to  the  guar- 
dian of  the  house,  before  she  retired  to  rest : 

"  Ave,  Joseph  !   Fill  David  juste  ! 
Vir  Nlarut  de  qua  natus  est  Jesus  !  " 

Lady  de  Tilly  sat  listening  as  she  held  the  hands  of  her  two 
nieces,  thinking  how  merciless  was  Fate,  and  half  rebelling 
in  her  mind  against  the  working  of  Providence.  The  sweet 
song  of  Mere  St.  Borgia  fell  like  soft  rain  upon  her  hard 
thoughts,  and  instilled  a  spirit  of  resignation  amid  the  dark- 
ness, as  she  repeated  the  words,  '"•  ^ivt'.Joxcph  !  "  She  fought 
bitterly  in  her  soul  against  giving  up  her  two  lambs,  as  she 
called  them,  to  the  cold,  scant  life  of  the  cloister,  while  her 
judgment  saw  but  too  plainly  that  naught  else  seemed  left  to 
their  crushed  and  broken  spirits.  Put  she  neither  suggested 
their  withdrawal  from  the  Convent,  nor  encouraged  them  to 
remain. 

In  her  secret  thought,  the  Lady  de  Tilly  regarded  the 
cloister  as  a  blessed   rc^nge  for  the   broken-hearted,  a  rest 

607 


r)oS 


THK    (lOI.DICN     DOG. 


for  the  weary  and  overladen  with  earthly  troubles,  a  living 
<;rave,  which  such  may  covet  and  not  sin  ;  but  the  youn;^,  the 
joyous,  the  beautiful,  and  all  capable  of  making;  the  world 
fairer  and  better,  she  would  inexorably  shut  out.  Christ 
calls  not  these  from  the  earthly  paradise  ;  but  the  afflicted, 
the  disappointed,  the  des[)airin2;,  they  who  have  fallen  help- 
lessly down  in  the  journey  of  life,  and  are  of  no  further  u.se 
in  this  world,  these  he  calls  by  their  names  and  comforts 
them.  Hut  for  those  rare  souls  who  are  too  cold  for  au^hl 
but  spiritual  joys,  he  reserves  a  peculiar  though  not  his 
choicest  benediction. 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  pondered  these  thoughts  over  and 
over,  in  the  fulness  of  pity  for  her  children.  She  would  not 
leave  the  Convent  at  the  closing  of  the  gates  for  the  night, 
but  remained  the  honored  guest  of  Mere  Migeon,  who 
ordered  a  chamber  to  be  prepared  for  her  in  a  style  that  was 
luxurious  compared  with  the  scantily  furnished  rooms  allot- 
ted to  the  nuns. 

Amelie  prevailed,  after  much  entreaty,  upon  Mere  Ksther, 
to  intercede  with  the  Superior  for  permission  to  pass  the 
night  with  Heloise  in  the  cell  that  had  once  been  occupied 
by  her  pious  kinswoman.  Mere  Madelaine. 

"  It  is  a  great  thing  to  ask,"  replied  Mere  Esther  as  she 
returned  with  her  desired  boon,  "  and  a  greater  still  to  be 
obtained  !  but  Mere  Migeon  is  in  a  benevolent  mood  to- 
night;  for  the  sake  of  no  one  else  would  she  have  granted  a 
dispensation  of  the  rules  of  the  house." 

That  night  Lady  de  Tilly  held  a  long  and  serious  confer- 
ence with  Mere  Migeon  and  Mere  Ksther,  upon  the  event 
which  had  driven  her  nieces  to  the  cloister,  promising  that 
if,  at  the  end  of  a  month,  they  persisted  in  their  resolutions, 
she  would  consent  to  their  assumption  of  the  white  veil ;  and 
upon  the  completion  of  their  novitiate,  when  they  took  the 
tinal  vows,  she  would  gi\-e  them  uj)  with  such  a  dower  as 
would  make  all  former  gifts  of  the  house  of  Kepentigny  and 
Tilly  poor  in  the  comparison. 

Mere  Migeon  was  esijecially  overjoyed  at  this  prospect  of 
relieving  the  means  of  her  house,  which  had  been  so  terribly 
straitened  of  late  years.  The  losses  occasioned  by  the  war 
had  been  a  never-ending  source  of  anxiety  to  her  and 
Mere    Ksther,  who,  however,  kept   their   troubles  as  far  as 


"LOVKLY    IN    OKATH. 


609 


l)lcs,  ;\  livin;; 
he  yoiin^,  the 
iv^  the  world 
out.  Christ 
tlie  iifllicted, 
e  fallen  help- 
I'o  further  use 
aiul  comforts 
old  for  auj;ht 
ouirh   not   his 

hts  over  and 
ihe  would  not 
for  the  night. 
Migeon,  who 
style  that  was 
1  rooms  allot- 

Mere  Ksther, 
1  to  pass  the 
3een  occupied 

Ksther  as  she 
ter  still  to  be 
lent  mood  to- 
lave  f^ranted  a 

>erious  confer- 
pon  the  event 
:)romising  that 
i]Y  resolutions, 
vhite  veil ;  and 
they  took  the 
h  a  dower  as 
.epentiL^ny  and 

lis  prospect  of 
ecu  so  terribly 
ed  by  the  war 
y  to  her  and 
bles  as  far  as 


possible  to  themselves,  in  order  that  the  cares  of  the  world 
might  not  encroach  too  far  upon  the  minds  of  the  com- 
munity. Hence  they  were  more  than  ordinarily  glad  at  this 
double  vocation  in  the  house  of  Repentigny.  The  prospect 
of  its  great  wealth  falling  to  pious  uses  they  regarded  as  a 
special  mark  of  divine  providence  and  care  for  the  house  of 
Ste.  Ur.sule. 

"  Oh,  Mere  Ksther  !  Mere  Esther  !  "  exclaimed  the  Lady 
Superior.  "  I  feel  too  great  a  satisfaction  in  view  of  the 
rich  dower  of  these  two  girls.  I  need  much  self-examination 
to  weed  out  worldly  thoughts.  Alas !  Alas !  I  would 
rather  be  the  humblest  aunt  in  our  kitchen  than  the  Lady 
Superior  of  the  Ursulines.  Blessed  old  Mere  Marie  used  to 
say  '  a  good  turn  in  the  kitchen  was  as  good  as  a  prayer  in 
the  chapel.'  " 

Mere  Esther  reflected  a  moment,  and  said,  "  We  have  long 
found  it  easier  to  pray  for  souls  than  to  relieve  bodies.  I 
thank  good  St.  Joseph  for  this  prospective  blessing  upon  our 
monastery.*' 

During  the  long  and  wasting  war,  Mere  Migeon  had  seen 
her  poor  nuns  reduced  to  grievous  straits,  which  they  bore 
cheerfully,  however,  as  their  share  of  the  common  suffering 
of  their  country.  The  cassette  of  St.  Joseph,  wherein  were 
deposited  the  oboli  for  the  poor,  had  long  been  emptied. 
The  image  of  St.  Joseph  au  Ble,  that  stood  at  the  great  stair, 
and  kept  watch  over  the  storeroom  of  corn  and  bread,  had 
often  guarded  an  empty  chamber.  St.  Joseph  au  Labeur, 
overlooking  the  great  kitchen  of  the  C'onvent,  had  often  been 
deaf  to  the  prayers  of  "  my  aunts,"  who  prepared  the  food  of 
the  community.  The  meagre  tables  of  the  refectory  had  not 
seldom  been  the  despair  of  the  old  depositaire,  Mere  St. 
Louis,  who  devoutly  said  her  longest  graces  over  her  scantiest 
meals. 

"  I  thank  St.  Joseph  for  what  he  gives,  and  for  what  he 
withholds ;  yea,  for  what  he  takes  away  !  "  observed  Mere 
St.  Louis  to  her  special  friend  and  gossip.  Mere  St.  Antoine, 
as  they  retired  from  the  chapel.  "Our  years  of  famine  are 
nearly  over.  The  day  of  the  consecration  of  Amelie  de 
Repentigny  will  be  to  us  the  marriage  at  Cana.  Our  water 
will  be  turned  into  wine 
crumbs,  except  for  the  poor  at  our  gate." 


I  shall  no  longer  need  to  save  the 


6io 


THE    GOLDEN    UOG. 


The  advent  of  y\nielie  de  Repentigny  was  a  circuinstance 
of  absorbing  interest  to  the  nuns,  who  regarded  it  as  a  reward 
for  their  long  devotions  and  prayers  for  the  restoration  of 
their  house  to  its  old  prosperity.  We  usually  count  Provi- 
dence upon  our  side  when  we  have  consciously  don<i  aught 
to  merit  the  good  fortune  that  befalls  us. 

And  now  days  came  and  went,  went  and  came,  as  Time, 
the  inexorable,  ever  does,  regardless  of  human  joys  or  sor- 
rows. Amelie,  weary  of  the  world,  was  only  desirous  of 
passing  away  from  it  to  that  sphere  where  time  is  not,  and 
where  our  affections  and  thoughts  alone  nseasiu'e  the  periods 
of  eternitv.  For  time,  there,  is  but  the  shadow  that  accom- 
panies the  joys  of  angels,  or  the  woes  of  sinners, —  not  the 
reality.     It  is  time  here,  etc^nity  there  ! 

The  two  postulantes  seemed  impressed  with  the  spirit  that, 
to  their  fancies,  lingered  in  the  cell  of  their  kinswoman. 
Mere  Madelaine.  They  bent  their  gentle  necks  to  the 
heaviest  yoke  of  spiritual  service  which  their  Superior  would 
consent  to  lay  upon  them. 

Amelie's  inflexible  will  made  hei  merciless  towards  her- 
self. She  took  pleasure  in  the  hardest  of  self-imposed  pen- 
ances, as  if  the  racking  of  her  soul  by  incessant  prayers,  and 
wasting  of  her  body  by  vigils  and  cruel  fastings,  were  a 
vicarious  punishment,  borne  for  the  sake  of  her  hapless 
brother. 

She  could  not  forget  Pierre,  nor  did  she  ever  try  to  forget 
him.  It  was  observed  by  the  younger  nuns  that  when,  b\ 
chance  or  design,  they  mentioned  his  name,  she  looked  up 
avid  her  lips  moved  in  silent  prayer  ;  l)ut  she  spoke  not  of 
him,  save  to  her  aunt  and  to  Ifeloise.  These  two  faithful 
friends  alone  knew  the  inexi)ressil)le  anguish  with  which  she 
ha(i  heard  of  Pierre's  intended  departure  for  France. 

The  shock  caused  by  the  homicide  of  the  Hourgeois,  and 
the  consetjuent  annihilation  of  all  the  hopes  of  hei'  life  in  a 
happy  imion  v»lLh  Pierre  IMiilibert,  was  too  much  for  even 
her  naturally  sound  and  elastic  constitution.  Her  heallh 
gave  way  irrecoverably.  Her  face  grew  thin  and  wan  with- 
out losing  any  of  its  s])iritual  beauty,  as  her  soul  looked 
through  its  ever  more  transparent  covering,  which  daily  grew 
more  and  more  atheriali/ed  as  she  fadeil  away.  A  hectic 
Hush,  like  a  spot  of  lire,  came  and  went  for  a  time,  anil  at 


"  LOVELY    IN    DEATH. 


6ll 


lircuni  Stance 
:  as  a  reward 
^storalion  of 
count  Provi- 
done  aught 

-ne,  as  Time, 

joys  or  sor- 

desirous  of 

2  is  not,  and 

K  the  periods 
that  acconi- 

:rs, —  not  tlie 

lie  spirit  that, 

kinswoman, 

lecks    to    the 

.iperior  would 

towards  her- 
imposed  pen- 
prayers,  and 
ings,   were  a 
her    hapless 

•  try  to  forget 
hat  when,  b} 
\e  looked  up 
sjxjke  not  of 

two  faithful 
ilh  which  she 
a  nee. 
ourgeois,  and 

her  life  in  a 
uch  for  e\iMi 

Her   heallh 
\n(l  wan  wilh- 

soul  looked 
ich  daily  grew 
nv.  A  hectic 
H  time,  and  at 


last  settled  permanently  upon  her  cheek.  Her  eyes,  those 
glorious  orbs,  filled  with  uncpienchable  love,  grew  supernatur- 
ally  large  and  brilliant  with  the  flames  that  fed  upon  her 
vital  forces.  Amelie  sickened  and  sank  rapidly.  'I'he  vulture 
of  quick  consumption  had  fastc^fied  upon  her  young  life. 

Mere  Esther  and  Mere  Migeon  shook  their  heads,  for 
they  were  used  to  broken  hearts,  and  knew  the  infallible 
signs  which  denote  an  early  death  in  the  young  and  beauti- 
ful. Prayers  and  masses  were  offered  for  the  recovery  of 
Amelie,  but  all  in  vain.  God  wanted  her.  He  alone  knew 
how  to  heal  that  broken  heart.  It  was  seen  that  she  had 
not  long  to  live.     It  was  known  she  wish(;d  to  die. 

Pierre  heard  the  tidings  with  overwhelming  grief.  He 
had  been  permitted  but  once  to  see  her  for  a  few  brief 
moments,  which  dwelt  upon  his  mind  forever.  He  deferred 
his  departure  to  Europe  in  consecpience  of  her  illness,  and 
knocked  daily  at  the  door  of  the -Convent  t<  ask  after  her 
and  leave  some  kind  message  or  flower,  which  was  faithfully 
carried  to  her  by  the  friendly  nuns  who  received  him  at  the 
wicket.  A  feeling  of  pity  and  sympathy  for  these  two 
affianced  and  unfortunate  lovers  stole  into  the  hearts  of  the 
coldest  nuns,  while  the  novices  and  the  romantic  convent 
girls  were  absolutely  wild  over  the  melancholy  fate  of  i*ierre 
and  Amelie. 

He  k>ng  solicited  in  vain  for  another  interview  with 
Amelie,  but  until  it  was  seen  that  she  was  ai^proaching  the 
end,  it  was  not  granted  him.  Mere  Esther  interceded  strongly 
with  the  Lady  Superior,  who  was  jealous  of  the  influence  of 
Pierre  with  her  young  novice.  At  length  Amc'lie's  prayers 
overcame  her  scruples.  He  was  told  one  day  that  Amelie 
was  dying,  and  wished  to  see  him  for  the  last  lime  in  this 
world. 

Amelie  was  carried  in  a  chair  to  the  bars  to  receive  her 
sorrowing  lover.  Her  pale  face  retained  its  statues(]ue 
beauty  of  outline,  but  so  thin  and  wasted! 

"Pierre  will  not  know  me;"  whispered  she  to  Heloise, 
"but  I  shall  smile  at  the  joy  of  meeting  him,  and  then  he 
will  recognize  me." 

Her  flowing  veil  was  tiirown  back  from  hoi'  fa^  e.  She 
spoke  little,  but  her  dark  eyes  were  fixed  with  dmouring 
eagerness  upon  the  door  by  which   she   knew   Pierre  would 


6l2 


THE    ClOLDEN     DOG. 


come  in.  Her  aunt  supported  her  head  upon  her  shoulder, 
wiiile  Heloise  knelt  at  her  knee  and  fanned  her  with  sist:erly 
tenderness,  whispering  words  of  sisterly  sympathy  in  her  ear. 
Pierre  flew  to  the  Convent  at  the  hour  appointed.  He  was 
at  once  admitted,  with  a  caution  from  Mere  Esther  to  be  calm 
and  not  agitate  the  dying  girl.  'I'he  moment  he  entered  the 
great  parlor,  vVmt'lie  sprang  from  her  seat  with  a  sudden  cr\ 
of  recognition,  extending  her  poor  thin  hands  through  the 
bars  towards  him.  Pierre  seized  them,  kissing  them  pas- 
sionately, but  broke  down  utterly  at  the  sight  of  her  wasted 
face  and  the  seal  of  death  set  thereon. 

"  Amelie,  my  darHng  Ame'lie  !  "  exclaimed  he;  "I  have 
prayed  so  long  to  see  you,  and  they  would  not  let  me  in." 

"  It  was  partly  my  fault,  Pierre,"  said  she  fondly.  "  I 
feared  to  let  you  see  me.  I  feared  to  learn  that  you  hate, 
as  you  have  cause  to  do,  the  whole  house  of  Repentigny  ! 
And  yet  you  do  not  curse  me,  dear  Pierre  ? " 

"  My  poor  angel,  you  break  my  heart !     I  curse  the  house 
of  Repentigny  ?     I  iiate  you  ?     Ame'lie,  you  know  me  better." 
"  Put   your   good   father,   the   noble   and  just   Jjourgeois ! 
Oh,  Pierre,  what  have  we  not  done  to  you  and  yours !  " 

She  fell  back  upon  her  pillow,  covering  her  eyes  with  her 
semi-transparent  hands,  bursting,  as  she  did  so,  into  a  flood 
of  passionate  tears  and  passing  into  a  dead  faint. 

Pierre  was  wild  with  anguish.  He  pressed  against  the 
bars.  "  For  God's  sake,  let  me  in  !  "  exclaimed  he  ;  "  she  is 
dying  !  " 

The  two  quiet  nuns  who  were  in  attendance  shook  their 
heads  at  Pierre's  appeal  to  open  tiie  door.  They  were  too 
well  disciplined  in  the  iron  rule  of  the  house  to  open  it  witli- 
out  an  express  order  from  the  Lady  Superior,  or  from  Mere 
Ksther.  Their  bosoms,  aboiuuling  in  spiritual  warmth,  re- 
Sj^onded  coldly  to  the  contagion  of  mere  human  passion. 
Their  ears,  unused  to  ihe  voice  of  man's  love,  tingled  at  the 
words  of  Pierre,  b'ortunately,  Mere  I-sther,  ever  on  the 
watch,  came  into  the  parlor,  and,  seeing  at  a  glance  the  need 
of  the  hour,  opened  the  iron  door  and  bade  Pierre  come  in. 
He  rushetl  forward  and  threw  himself  at  the  feet  of  Amelie, 
calling  her  by  the  most  tender  appellatives,  and  seeking  to 
recall  her  to  a  consciousness  of  his  presence. 

That  loved,   familiar   voice    overtook    her   spirit,   already 


ler  shoulder, 
with  sisterly 
ly  in  her  ear. 
ed.  He  was 
er  to  be  calm 
e  entered  the 
a  sudden  cry 
throui^h  the 
ny;  them  pas- 
)f  her  wasted 

he  ;   " I  have 
let  me  in." 
t  fondly.     "  1 
hat  you  hate, 
Repentigny  ! 

rse  the  house 
3W  me  better." 
St  J  bourgeois! 
yours  !  " 
eyes  with  her 
o,  into  a  flood 
nt. 

d  against  the 
d  he  ;  "  she  is 

e  shook  their 

Miey  were  too 

3  open  it  with- 

or  from  Mere 
al  warmth,  re- 
mian   passion. 

tingled  at  the 
ever  on  the 
lance  the  need 
*ierre  come  in. 
feet  of  A  me  lie. 

nd  seeking  to 


"  LOVELY    IN    DEATH. 


613 


I 


spirit,   already 


winging  its  Hight  from  earth,  and  brought  it  back  for  a  few 
minutes  longer.  Mere  Esther,  a  skilful  nurse,  administered 
a  few  drops  of  cordial,  and,  seeing  her  dying  condition,  sent 
instantly  for  the  physician  and  the  chaplain. 

Ame'lie  opened  her  eyes  and  turned  them  inquiringly 
around  the  group  until  they  fastened  upon  Pierre.  A  flash  of 
fondness  suddenly  suffused  her  face,  as  she  remembered  how 
and  why  he  was  there.  She  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck 
and  kissed  him  many  times,  murmuring,  "  I  have  often 
prayed  to  die  thus,  Pierre  !  close  to  you,  my  love,  close  to 
you  ;  in  your  arms  and  God's,  where  you  could  receive  my 
last  breath,  and  feel  in  the  last  throb  of  my  heart  that  it  is 
wholly  yours !  " 

"  My  poor  Amelie,"  cried  he,  pressing  her  to  his  bosom, 
"  you  shall  not  die  !  Courage,  darling !  It  is  but  weakness 
and  the  air  of  the  convent ;  you  shall  not  die." 

"  I  am  dying  now,  Pierre,"  said  she,  falling  back  upon  her 
pillow.  "  I  feel  I  have  but  a  short  time  to  live.  I  welcome 
death,  since  I  cannot  be  yours.  But,  oh,  the  unutterable 
pang  of  leaving  you,  my  dear  love  !  " 

Pierre  could  only  reply  by  sobs  and  kisses.  Amelie  was 
silent  for  a  few  moments,  as  if  revolving  some  deep  thought 
in  her  mind. 

"  There  is  one  thing,  Pierre,  I  have  to  beg  of  you,"  said 
.she,  faltering  as  if  doubting  his  consent  to  her  prayer.  "  Can 
you,  will  you,  accept  my  life  for  Le  Gardeur's  .^  If  I  die  for 
//////,  will  you  forgive  my  poor  blood-stained  and  deluded 
brother,  and  your  own  ?  Yes,  Pierre,"  repeated  she,  as  she 
rai.sed  his  hand  to  her  lips  and  kis.sed  it,  "  your  brother,  as 
well  as  mine  !     Will  you  forgive  him,  Pierre  .'' " 

"  Amelie  !  Amelie  1 "  replied  he  with  a  voice  broken  with 
emotion,  "  can  you  fancy  other  than  that  I  would  forgive 
him?  I  forgave  Le  Gardeur  from  the  fust.  In  my  heart  I 
never  accused  him  of  my  father's  death.  Alas,  he  knew  not 
what  he  did!  He  was  but  a  sword  in  the  hands  of  my 
father's  eneiviies.  I  forgave  him  then,  darling,  and  1  forgive 
him  wholly  now,  for  your  sake  and  his  own." 

"My  noble  I'ierre  !  "  replied  she,  putting  out  her  arms 
towards  him.  "Why  might  not  God  have  suffered  me  to 
rew;)r(l  such  divine  goodness.''  Thanks,  my  love!  I  now 
die  content  with  all  things  but  i)arting  with  you."     She  held 


6i4 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


him  fast  by  Jiis  hands,  one  of  which  she  kept  pressed  to  her 
lijis.  They  all  looked  at  her  expectantly,  waiting  for  her  to 
speak  again,  for  her  jyes  were  wide  open  and  fixed  with  a 
look  of  ineffable  love  upon  the  face  of  Pierre,  looking  like 
life,  after  life  was  lied.  Slie  still  held  him  in  her  rigid  clasp, 
but  she  moved  not.  Upon  her  pale  lips  a  smile  seemed  to 
hover.  It  was  but  the  shadow  left  behind  of  her  retreat- 
ing soul.  Amelie  de  Repentigny  was  dead  !  The  angel  of 
death  had  kissed  her  lovingly,  and  unnoticed  of  any  she  had 
passed  with  him  away. 

The  watchful  eye  of  the  I.ady  de  Tilly  was  the  fir^t  to  see 
that  Amelie's  breath  had  gone  so  quietly  that  nc  jne  caught 
her  latest  sigh.  'I'he  physician  and  chaplain  rushed  hur- 
riedly into  the  ciiamber,  but  too  late.  The  great  physician 
of  souls  had  already  put  his  beloxed  to  sleep,  -  the  blessed 
sleep,  whose  dream  is  of  lo\e  on  earth,  and  whose  waking  is 
in  heaven.  The  great  high  jjriest  of  the  sons  and  daughters 
of  men  had  anointed  her  with  the  oil  of  his  mercv,  and  sent 
his  blessed  angels  to  lead  her  to  the  mansions  of  everlasting 
rest. 

The  stroke  fell  like  the  stunning  blow  of  a  hammer  upon 
the  heart  of  Pierre.  He  had,  indeed,  foreseen  her  death, 
but  tried  in  vain  to  realize  it.  fie  made  no  outcry,  l)ut  sat 
still,  wrapped  in  a  terrible  silence  as  in  the  midst  of  a  desert. 
He  held  fast  her  dead  hands,  and  gazed  upon  her  dead  face 
until  tile  heart-breaking  sol)s  of  Ileloise,  and  the  appeals  of 
Mere  l'',sther,  roused  him  from  his  stupor. 

He  rose  up,  and,  lifting  Amelie  in  his  arms,  laid  her  upon 
a  couch  tenderly  and  reverently,  as  a  man  touches  the  holiest 
object  of  his  religion.  Amelie  was  tcj  him  a  sacrament,  and 
in  his  manly  lo\'e  he  worshipped  her  more  as  a  saint  than  as 
a  woman,  a  creation  of  hea\enly  more  than  of  earthly  perfec- 
tions. 

Pierre  bent  over  her  and  closed  for  the  last  time  those 
lie  ir  eyes  which  had  looked  upon  him  so  pure  and  so  lov- 
ingly. He  embraced  her  de.id  form,  and  kissed  tlu)se  pallid 
li|)S  which  had  once  confessed  lier  unalterable  love  and  truth 
for  Pierre  Philibeit. 

The  agitated  nuns  gathered  lound  them  at  the  news  of 
death  in  the  Convent.  They  looked  wonderingly  and  ear- 
nestly at  an  exhibition  of  such  absorbing  affection,  and  were 


"LOVELY    IN    DEATH."                                6l$ 

ressed  to  her 

for    the   most   part  in    tears.     With   some  of   these   gentle 

ig  for  her  to 

women  this  picture  of  true  love,  broken  in  the  midst  of  its 

iixed  with   a 

brightest  hopes,  woke  sympathies  and  recollections  which  the 

looking  Hke 

watchful  eye  of  Mere  Migeon  promptly  checked  as  soon  as 

r  rigid  chisp, 

she  came  into  the  parlor. 

e  seemed  to 

The  Lady  Superior  saw  that  all  was  over,  and  that  Pierre's 

her  retreat- 

presence  was  an  uneasiness  to  the  nuns,  who  glanced  at  him 

rhe  angel  of 

with  eyes  of  pity  and  womanly  sympathy.      She  took  him 

any  she  had 

kindly  by  the  hand,  with  a  few  words  of  condolence,  and 

intimated  that  as  he  had  been  permitted  to  see  the  end,  he 

e  fir^t  to  see 

must    now   withdraw    from    those    forbidden    precincts   and 

J  'jne  caught 

leave  his    lost  treasure  to    the  care  ai  the  nuns  who  take 

rushed  hur- 

charge  of  the  dead. 

3at  physician 

"  the  blessed 

3se  waking  is 

nd  daughters 

rcy,  and  sent 

jf  everlasting 

• 

lammer  upon 

n  her  death, 

utcry,  but  sat 

St  of  a  desert. 

' 

ler  dead  face 

< 

he  appeals  of 

laid  her  upon 

les  the  holiest 

icranient,  and 

saint  than  as 

earthly  perfec- 

t 

ist  time  those 

re  and  so  1o\ - 

d  those  |xdlid 

love  and  trulli 

t  the  news  of 

ngly  and  ear- 

> 

lion,  and  were 

CHAPTER  LIV. 


"THE    MILLS    OF    GOD    GRIND    SLOWLY. 


PIERRE  was  permitted  to  seethe  remains  of  his  affianced 
bride  interred  in  the  Convent  chapel.  Her  modest 
funeral  was  impressive  from  the  number  of  sad,  sympathizing 
faces  which  gathered  around  her  grave. 

The  quiet  figure  of  a  nun  was  seen  morn  and  eve,  for 
years  and  years  after,  kneeling  upon  the  stone  slab  that 
covered  her  grave,  laying  upon  it  her  daily  offering  of 
flowers,  and  if  the  name  of  Le  Gardeur  mingled  with  her 
prayers,  it  was  but  a  proof  of  the  unalterable  affection  of 
Heloise  de  Lotbiniere,  known  in  religion  as  Mere  St.  Croix. 

The  lamp  of  Repentigny  shed  its  beams  henceforth  over 
the  grave  of  the  last  representative  of  that  noble  house, 
where  it  still  shines  to  commemorate  their  virtues,  and  per- 
petuate the  memory  of  their  misfortunes ;  but  God  has  long 
since  compensated  them  for  all. 

Lady  de  Tilly  was  inconsolable  over  the  ruin  of  her  fondest 
hopes.  She  had  regarded  Pierre  as  her  son,  and  intended 
to  make  him  and  Amelie  joint  inheritors  with  Le  Gardeur  of 
her  immense  wealth.  She  desired  still  to  bequeath  it  to 
Pierre,  not  only  because  of  her  great  kindness  for  him,  but 
as  a  sort  of  self-imposed  amercement  upon  her  house  for  the 
death  of  his  father. 

Pierre  refused.  "  I  have  more  of  the  world's  riches 
already  than  I  can  use,"  said  he ;  "  and  I  value  not  what  I 
have,  since  she  is  gone  for  whose  sake  alone  I  prized  them. 
I  shall  go  abroad  to  resume  my  profession  of  arms,  not 
seeking,  yet  not  avoiding  an  honorable  death,  which  may 
reunite  me  to  Amelie,  and  the  sooner  the  more  welcome." 

Lady  de  Tilly  souglit,  by  assiduous  devotion  to  the  duties 
of  her  life  and  staticm,  distraction  from  the  gnawing  cares 
that  ever  preyed  upon  her.  She  but  partially  succeeded. 
She  lived  through  the  short  peace  of  Aix-la-Chapelle,  and 

6i6 


"THE    MILLS    OF    GOD    GRIND    SLOWLY 


«> 


617 


lis  affianced 
[^er  modest 
ympathizing 

and  eve,  for 
le  slab  that 
offering  of 
ed  with  her 
affection  of 
re  St.  Croix, 
iceforth  over 
loble  house, 
les,  and  per- 
jod  has  long 

f  her  fondest 
ind  intended 
e  Gardeur  of 
;queath  it  to 
for  him,  but 
liouse  for  the 

orld's  riches 
le  not  what  I 

prized  them, 
of  arms,  not 
1,  which  may 
welcome." 

to  the  duties 
nawing  cares 
ly  succeeded. 
Jhapelle,  and 


shared  in  the  terrible  sufferings  of  the  seven  years'  war  that 
followed  in  its  wake.  When  the  final  conquest  of  New 
France  overwhelmed  the  Colony,  to  all  appearances  in  utter 
ruin,  she  endowed  the  Ursulines  with  a  large  portion  of  her 
remaining  wealth,  and  retired  with  her  nearest  kinsmen  to 
France.  The  name  of  Tilly  became  extinct  among  the 
noblesse  of  the  Colony,  but  it  still  flourishes  in  a  vigorous 
branch  upon  its  native  soil  of  Normandy. 

Pierre  l*hilibert  passed  a  sad  winter  in  arranging  and  set- 
tling the  vast  affairs  of  hisfath'ir  before  leaving  New  France. 
In  the  spring  following  the  death  of  Amelie,  he  passed  over 
to  the  old  world,  bidding  a  long  and  last  adieu  to  his  native 
land. 

Pierre  endeavored  manfully  to  bear  up  under  the  load  of 
recollections  and  sorrows  which  crushed  his  heart,  and  made 
him  a  grave  and  melancholy  man  before  his  time.  He  re- 
joined the  army  of  his  sovereign,  and  sought  da"^er — his 
comrades  said  for  danger's  sake — ^with  a  desperate  valor 
that  was  the  boast  of  the  army ;  but  few  suspected  that  he 
sought  death  and  tempted  fate  in  every  form. 

His  wish  was  at  last  accomplished,  —  as  all  earnest,  ab- 
sorbing wishes  ever  are.  He  fell  valorously,  dying  a  soldier's 
death  upon  the  field  of  Minden,  his  last  moments  sweetened 
by  the  thought  that  his  beloved  Amelie  was  waiting  for  him 
on  the  other  side  of  the  dark  river,  to  welcome  him  with  the 
bridal  kiss  promised  upon  the  banks  of  the  Lake  of  Tilly. 
He  met  her  joyfully  in  that  land  where  love  is  real,  and 
where  its  promises  are  never  broken. 

The  death  of  the  Bourgeois  Philibert,  affecting  so  many 
fortunes,  was  of  immense  consequence  to  the  Colony,  it 
led  to  the  ruin  of  the  party  of  the  Ifoiuictcs  Gens,  to  the 
supremacy  of  the  Grand  Company,  and  the  final  overthrow 
of  New  France. 

The  power  and  extravagance  of  I>igot  after  that  event 
grew  without  check  or  challenge,  and  tiie  departure  of  the 
virtuous  La  Galissoniere  left  the  Colony  to  the  weak  and 
corrupt  administrations  of  La  Jonc|uiere,  and  De  Vaudreiul. 
The  latter  made  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis  as  noted  for  its 
venality  as  was  the  Palace  of  the  Intendant.  Pigot  kept  his 
higli  place  through  e\'ery  change,  'j'he  Marquis  de  Vau- 
dreuil  gave  him  free  course,  and  it  was  more  than  suspected 


6i8 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


shared   wilh   the  coriupt   Intenchint  in   the   plunder  of  the 
Colony. 

These  public  vices  bore  their  natural  fruit,  and  all  the 
efforts  of  the  Iloiiiictcs  Gens  to  stay  the  tide  of  corruption 
were  futile.  Montcalm,  after  reaping  successive  harvests  of 
victories,  brilliant  b'iyv-nd  all  precedent  in  North  Anierici. 
died  a  sacriru'v'  tc  \\\f\  \  isatiablc  greed  and  extravagance  of 
JJigoL  Aiid  i.i.s  a-,s'  cia^e.i,  who,  while  enriching  themselves, 
starved  the  a>  niy  wwA  plundered  the  Colony  of  all  its  re- 
sources. 'I'he  1  ;!i  of  '^  ebec,  and  the  capitulation  of  Mon- 
treal were  less  owing  lo  .he  power  of  the  English  than  to 
the  corrupt  misgovernment  of  Bigot  and  Vaudreuil,  and  the 
neglect  by  the  court  of  France  of  her  ancient  and  devoted 
Colony. 

Le  (iardeur,  after  a  long  confinement  in  the  Bastille, 
where  he  incessantly  demanded  trial  and  punishment  for 
his  rank  offence  of  the  murder  of  the  Vjourgeois,  as  he  ever 
called  it,  was  at  last  liberated  by  express  command  of  the 
King,  without  trial  and  against  his  own  wishes.  His  sword 
was  restored  to  him,  accompanied  by  a  royal  order  bidding 
him,  noon  his  allegiance,  return  to  his  regiment,  as  an  officer 
of  the  King,  free  from  all  blame  for  the  offence  laid  to  his 
charge.  Whether  the  killing  of  the  Bourgeois  was  privately 
regarded  at  Court  as  good  service  was  never  known.  But 
Le  Ciardeu ",  true  to  his  loyal  instincts,  obeyed  the  King, 
rejoined  the  army,  and  once  more  took  the  field. 

Upon  the  outbreak  of  the  last  French  war  in  America, 
he  returned  to  New  France,  a  changed  and  reformed  man ; 
an  ascetic  in  his  living,  and,  although  a  soldier,  a  monk  in 
the  rigor  of  his  penitential  observances.  His  professional 
skill  and  daring  were  conspicuous  among  the  number  of  gal- 
lant officers  upon  whom  Montcalm  chielly  relied  to  assist 
him  in  his  long  and  desperate  struggle  against  the  ever- 
increasing  forces  of  the  luiglish.  From  the  capture  of 
Chouaguen  and  the  defence  of  the  I'ords  of  Montmorency, 
to  the  last  brave  blow  struck  upon  the  plains  (;f  St.  Foye, 
Le  (Iardeur  de  Repentiguy  fulfilled  every  duty  of  a  gallant 
iind  desperate  soldier.  lie  carried  his  life  in  his  hand, 
ami  valued  it  as  cheaply  as  he  did  the  lives  of  his  enemies. 

He  never  spoke  to  Angelitpic  again.  Once  he  met  her 
full  in  the   face,  upon   the   perron  of   the  Cathedral  of   St, 


inder  of  the 

and  all  the 
f  corruption 
;  harvests  of 
rth  Anieric;!. 
"avagance  of 

themselves, 
)f  all  its  re- 
ion  of  Mon- 
;lish  than  to 
mil,  and  the 
md  devoted 

the  Bastille, 
lishment  for 
s,  as  he  ever 
inand  of  the 
His  sword 
rder  bidding 
as  an  officer 
e  laid  to  his 
^'as  privately 
cnown.  But 
d  the  King, 

in  America, 
ormed  man ; 
,  a  monk  in 
professional 
mber  of  gal- 
led to  assist 
St  the  ever- 

capture  of 
ontmorency, 
of  St.  Foye, 
of  a  gallant 
11  his  hand, 
his  enemies. 

he  met  her 
ledral  of   St, 


MARIJIJIS   OF    MONTCAI.M. 


iMar 

bins 
old 
and 
hot 
hear 
or  if 
pale 
de  I 
solit 
H 
Le  ( 
a  in; 
blow 
prou 
any 

weej 
life. 

A 
with 
theii 
whic 
now 
he  \ 
rigoi 
feai"( 
Le  ( 
man 
woni 
dish 
as  (i 
his  1 

() 
war 
Lou 
Engl 
asse 
arms' 
and 
chan 


♦«TI1K    MILLS    OF    fJOI)    flKIND    SLOWLY. 


619 


Marie.  She  started  as  if  touched  !:>)•  fire,  —  trembled, 
blushed,  hesitated,  and  extended  her  hand  to  him  in  the 
old  familiar  way, — with  that  look  of  witchery  in  her  eyes, 
and  that  setluctive  smile  upon  her  lips,  which  once  sent  the 
hot  blood  coursing  madly  in  his  veins.  Hut  I.e  (iardeur's 
heart  was  petritled  now.  He  cared  for  no  woman  more,  — 
or  if  he  did.  his  thought  dwelt  with  silent  regret  upon  that 
pale  nun  in  the  C'onvent  of  the  Ursulines — once  Heloise 
de  Lotbiniere  who  he  knew  was  wasting  her  young  life  in 
solitary  prayers  for  pardon  for  his  great  offence. 

His  anger  rose  fiercely  at  the  sight  of  Angelique,  and 
Le  Gardeur  forgot  for  a  moment  that  he  was  a  gentleman, 
a  man  who  had  once  loved  this  woman.  He  struck  her  a 
blow,  and  passed  on.  It  shattered  her  last  illusion.  The 
proud,  guilty  woman  still  loved  Le  Oardeur,  if  she  loved 
any  man.  But  she  felt  she  had  merited  his  scorn.  She 
staggered,  and  sat  down  on  the  steps  of  the  Cathedral, 
weeping  the  bitterest  tears  her  eyes  had  ever  wept  in  her 
life.     She  never  saw  Le  Gardeur  again. 

After  the  conquest  of  New  France,  Le  Gardeur  retired 
with  the  shattered  remnant  of  the  army  of  France,  back  to 
their  native  laud.  His  sovereign  loaded  him  with  honors 
which  he  cared  not  for.  He  had  none  to  share  them  with 
now!  Lover,  sister,  friends,  all  were  lost  and  gone!  liut 
he  went  on  performing  his  military  duties  with  an  iron 
rigor  and  punctuality  that  made  men  admire,  while  they 
feared  him.  His  life  was  more  mechanical  than  human. 
Le  Gardeur  spared  neither  himself  nor  others.  He  never 
married,  and  never  again  looked  with  kindly  eye  upon  a 
woman.  His  heart  was  proof  against  every  fenu\le  blan- 
dishment. He  ended  his  life  in  solitary  state  and  greatness, 
as  (Governor  of  Mahe  in  India,  many  years  after  he  had  left 
his  native  Canada. 

One  day,  in  the  year  of  grace  1777,  another  council  of 
war  was  sitting  in  the  groat  cliamber  of  the  Castle  of  St. 
Louis,  under  a  wonderful  change  of  circumstances.  An 
English  governor,  Sir  Guy  Carleton,  jiresided  ()\er  a  mixed 
assemblage  of  Knglish  and  Canadian  officers.  The  royal 
arms  and  colors  of  England  had  replaced  the  emblems 
and  ensigns  of  l-'rance  upon  the  walls  of  the  council- 
chamber,   and    the    red    uniform   of    her   army   was    loyally 


620 


THE    f.OLDEN    DOG. 


worn  by  the  old,  but  still  indomitable,  La  Corne  St.  Luc, 
who,  with  the  I  )e  Salaberrys,  the  l)e  Heaujeus,  1  )uchesnays, 
l)e  (laspes,  and  others  of  noblest  name  and  lineage  in  New 
France,  had  come  forward  as  loyal  subjects  of  Kngland's 
('rown  to  defend  Canada  against  the  armies  of  the  English 
Colonies,  now  in  rebellion  against  the  King. 

"  Read  that,  La  Corne,"  said  Sir  (iuy  Carleton,  handing 
him  a  newspaper  just  received  from  luigland.  "An  old 
friend  of  yours,  if  I  mistake  not,  is  dead.  I  met  him  once 
in  India.  A  stern,  saturnine  man  he  was,  but  a  brave 
and  able  commander;  I  am  sorry  to  hear  of  his  death,  but 
I  do  not  wonder  at  it.  He  was  the  most  melancholy  man 
I  ever  saw."' 

La  Corne  took  the  paper  and  gave  a  start  of  intense 
emotion  as  he  read  an  obituary  notice  as  follows  : 

"Last  Indies.  Death  of  the  Marquis  de  Repentigny. 
The  Marquis  Le  (iardeur  de  Repentigny,  general  of  the 
army  and  Governor  of  Mahe,  died  last  year  in  that  part  of 
India,  which  he  had,  by  his  valor  and  skill,  preserved  to 
France.  This  ofiTicer  had  served  in  Canada  with  the  repu- 
tation of  an  able  and  gallant  soldier." 

La  Corne  was  deeply  agitated ;  his  lips  quivered,  and 
tears  gathered  in  the  thick  gray  eyelashes  that  formed  so 
prominent  a  feature  of  his  rugged  but  kindly  face.  He 
concluded  his  reading  in  silence,  and  handed  the  paper 
to  De  Beaujeu,  with  the  single  remark,  "  Le  Gardeur  is 
dead  !  Poor  fellow  !  He  was  more  .'-inned  against  than  sin- 
ning!  God  pardon  him  for  all  the  e\il  he  meant  not  to  do! 
Is  it  not  strange  that  she  who  was  the  cursed  cause  of  his 
ruin  still  flourishes  like  the  Queen  of  the  Kingdom  of 
Brass  ?  It  is  hard  to  justify  the  ways  of  Providence,  when 
wickedness  like  hers  prospers,  and  virtues  like  those  of  the 
brave  old  Bourgeois  tind  a  bloody  grave  !  My  poor  Ame'lie, 
too !  poor  girl,  poor  girl ! "  La  Corne  St.  Luc  sat  silent  a 
long  time,  immersed  in  melancholy  reflections. 

The  Canadian  officers  read  the  paragraph,  which  revived 
in  their  minds  also  sad  recollections  of  the  past.  They 
knew  that,  by  her  who  had  been  the  cursed  cause  of  the  ruin 
of  Le  Gardeur  and  of  the  death  of  the  Bourgeois,  La  Corne 
referred  to  the  still  blooming  widow  of  the  Chevalier  de 
Pean,  —  the  leader  of  fashion  and  gaiety  in  the  capital  now, 


■ne  St.  Luc, 
I  )uchesnays, 
eage  in  New 
f  Knfjjland's 
the  Knglish 

ton,  handing 
i.  "An  old 
et  him  once 
3ut  a  brave 
s  death,  but 
incholy  man 

t  of  intense 
ows  : 

Repentigny. 
leral  of  the 
that  part  of 
Dreserved  to 
th  the  repu- 

livered,  and 
t  formed  so 
face.  He 
i  the  paper 

Gardeur  is 
ist  than  sin- 
it  not  to  do ! 
:ause  of  his 
vingdom  of 
dcnce,  when 
;hose  of  the 
)Oor  Amelie, 

sat  silent  a 

lich  revived 
)ast.  They 
.'  of  the  ruin 
s,  La  Corne 
.'hevalier  de 
capital  now, 


TIIK    MII.I.S    OF    (iOn    GRIND    SLOWI.V 


621 


th( 


as   she   had   been    thirty   years    before,   when   she   was 
celebrated   Angelicjue  des   Meloises. 

Angeliciue  had  played  desperately  her  game  of  life  with 
the  juggling  fiend  of  ambition,  and  had  not  wholly  lost. 
Although  the  murder  of  Caroline  de  St.  C'astin  pressed 
hard  upon  her  conscience,  and  still  harder  upon  her  fears, 
no  man  read  in  her  face  the  minutest  asterisk  that  pointed 
to  the  terrible  secret  buried  in  her  bosom,  nor  ever  dis- 
covered it.  So  long  as  La  Corriveau  lived,  Angelique  never 
felt  safe.  I5ut  fear  was  too  weak  a  counsellor  for  her  to 
pretermit  either  her  composure  or  her  pleasures.  She  re- 
doubled her  gaiety  and  her  devotions ;  and  that  was  the 
extent  of  her  repentance  !  The  dread  secret  of  IJeaumanoir 
was  never  revealed.  It  awaited,  and  awaits  still,  the  judg- 
ment of  the  final  day  of  account. 

Ange'lique  had  intrigued  and  sinned  in  vain.  She  feared 
Bigot  knew  more  than  he  really  did,  in  reference  to  the 
death  of  Caroline,  and  oft,  while  laughing  in  his  face,  she 
trembled  in  her  heart,  when  he  played  and  equivocated  with 
her  earnest  appeals  to  marry  her.  Wearied  out  at  length 
with  waiting  for  his  decisive  yes  or  no,  Ange'lique,  mortified 
by  wounded  pride  and  stung  by  the  scorn  of  Le  Gardeur  on 
his  return  to  the  Colony,  suddenly  accepted  the  hand  of  the 
Chevalier  de  Pean,  and  as  a  result  became  the  recognized 
mistress  of  the  Intendant,  —  imitating  as  far  as  she  was  able 
the  splendor  and  the  guilt  of  La  Pompadour,  and  making 
the  Palace  of  Bigot  as  corrupt,  if  not  as  brilliant,  as  that  of 
Versailles. 

Angelique  lived  thenceforth  a  life  of  splendid  sin.  She 
clothed  herself  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  while  the  noblest 
ladies  of  the  land  were  reduced  by  the  war  to  rags  and 
beggary.  Sh'  fared  sumptuously,  while  men  and  women 
died  of  hung*  in  the  streets  of  Quebec.  She  bought 
houses  and  lands,  and  filled  her  coffers  with  gold  out  of 
the  public  treasury,  while  the  brave  soldiers  of  Montcalm 
starved  for  the  want  of  their  pay.  She  gave  fetes  and 
banquets  while  the  Knglish  were  thundering  at  the  gates  of 
the  capital.  She  foresaw  the  eventual  fall  of  l)igot  and  me 
ruin  of  the  country,  and  resolved  that,  since  she  had  failed 
in  getting  himself,  she  would  make  herself  possessor  oi  all 
that  he  had. 


622 


thp:  golden   dog. 


The  fate  of  ]V]f^o\.  was  a  warning;;  to  public  peculators 
and  opiJiessors.  He  returned  to  I'Vance  soon  after  the 
surrender  of  the  Colony,  ^^  ith  Cadet.  Varin,  I'enisault,  and 
others  of  the  (irand  Company,  who  were  now  useless  tools, 
and  were  cast  ;>side  by  their  court  friends.  The  Hastille 
opened  its  iron  doors  to  receive  the  godless  and  wicked 
crew,  who  had  lost  the  fairest  (Jolony  of  l''rance,  the  richest 
jewel  in  her  crown,  i^igot  and  the  others  were  tried  by  a 
special  commission,  were  found  guilty  of  the  most  heinous 
malversations  of  office,  and  sentenced  to  make  full  resti- 
tution of  the  plunder  of  the  King's  treasures,  to  be  impris- 
oned until  their  lines  and  restitutions  were  paitl,  and  then 
banished  from  the  kingdom  forever. 

It  is  believed  that,  by  favor  of  La  Pompadour,  liigot's 
heavy  sentence  v^as  conunuted,  and  he  retained  a  sufficiency 
of  his  ill-gotten  wealth  to  enable  him,  under  a  change  of 
name,  to  live  in  ease  and  opulence  at  Bordeaux,  where  he 
died. 

Angeliipie  had  no  sympathy  for  lUgot  in  his  misfortunes, 
no  regrets  save  that  she  had  failed  to  mould  him  more 
completely  to  her  own  purposes,  flattering  herself  that  had 
she  done  so,  the  fortunes  of  the  war  and  the  fate  of  the 
Colony  might  ha\'e  been  different.  What  might  have  been, 
had  she  not  ruined  herself  and  her  projects  by  the  murdei" 
of  Caroline,  it  were  \ain  to  conjecture,  ikit  she  who  had 
boldly  dreamed  of  ruling  king  and  kingdom  by  the  witchery 
of  her  charms  and  the  craft  of  her  subtle  intellect,  had  to 
content  herself  with  the  name  of  l)e  Pean  and  the  shame 
of  a  lawless  connection  with  the  Intendan*. 

She  would  fain  have  gone  to  !'"rance  to  try  her  ff  rtunes 
when  the  Colony  was  lost,  but  Pa  I'ompadour  forbade  her 
presence  there,  under  pain  of  her  sexerest  displeasure. 
Angeliciue  raved  at  the  inhibition,  Init  was  too  wise  to  temjit 
the  wraUi  of  the  royal  mistress  by  disobe\ing  her  mandate. 
Sin;  iiad  to  content  herself  with  railing  at  Pa  Pompadour 
with  the  energy  of  three  furies,  but  she  never  ceased,  to  the 
end  of  her  life,  to  boast  of  the  terror  which  her  charms  had 
exercised  over  the  great  faxorite  of  the  Ping. 

Rolling  in  wealth  and  scarcely  faded  in  beauty,  Angelique 
kept  herself  in  the  public  eye.  She  hated  retirement,  and 
boldly  claimed  her  right  to  a  foremost  place  in  the  society 


"THE    MILLS    OF    (iOD    GRIND    SLOW^.V. 


623 


ic  peculators 
)n  after  llie 
enisault,  and 
useless  tools, 
The  IJastille 
and  wicked 
e,  the  ricliest 
re  tried  by  a 
most  heinous 
ke  full  resti- 
lo  be  inipris- 
lid,  and  then 

dour,  l)if;ot's 
a  sufficiency 
a  change   ot 

ux,   where  he 

misfortunes, 
d  him  more 
self  that  had 
i  fate  of  the 
It  have  been, 
y  the  murder 
she  who  had 
the  witchery 
llect,  had  to 
d  the  shame 

her  ff  rtunes 
forbade  her 
displeasure. 

^ise  to  tempt 

ler  mandate, 
i'ompadour 

eased,  to  the 
charms  had 

;y,  Angelique 
irement.  ;ind 
1  the  society 


of  Quebec.     Tier  great  wealth  and  unrivalled  power  of  in- 
trigue enabled  her  to  keep  that  place,  down  to  the  last. 

The  fate  of  La  C."orri\eau,  her  confederate  in  her  great 
wickedness,  was  peculiar  and  terrible.  Secured  at  once  by 
her  own  fears,  as  well  as  l)y  a  rich  yearly  allowance  paid  her 
by  Angt'lique,  La  ('orrivcau  discreetly  l)ridled  her  tongue 
over  the  death  of  Caroline,  but  she  could  noi  bridle  her  own 
evil  passions  in  her  own  household. 

One  summer  day,  of  the  \-ear  following  the  conf|uest  of  the 
('olony,  the  (xoodman  I  )odier  was  found  dead  in  his  house 
at  St.  Val'er.  Fanchon,  who  knew  something  and  suspected 
more,  spoke  out;  an  investigation  into  the  cause  of  death  of 
the  husband  resulted  in  the  disco\ery  that  he  had  !)een 
murdered  by  pouring  melted  lead  into  his  ear  while  he 
slept.  La  C^orriveau  was  arrested  as  the  perpetrator  of  the 
atrocious  deed. 

A  special  court  of  justice  was  ct)nvened  in  the  great  hall 
of  the  Convent  of  the  l^rsulines,  whii^h,  in  the  ruinous  slate 
of  the  city  after  the  siege  and  bombardment,  had  been  taken 
for  the  headquarters  of  (leneral  Murray.  ATere  Aligeon  and 
Mere  Ksther,  who  both  sin\  ived  the  conquest,  had  ell'ected 
a  prudent  arrangement  with  the  English  general,  and  saved 
the  Convent  from  all  further  encroachment  by  placing  it 
under  his  special  protection. 

La  Corriveau  was  tried  with  all  the  fairness,  if  not  with 
all  the  forms,  of  Knglish  law.  She  made  a  subtle  and 
embarrassing  defence,  but  was  at  last  fairly  convicted  of  the 
cruel  murder  of  her  husband.  She  was  sentenced  to  be 
hung,  and  gibbetted  in  an  iron  cage,  upon  the  hill  of  Le\is, 
in  sight  of  the  whole  city  of  (Quebec. 

La  Corriveau  made  frantic  efforts  during  her  imjirison 
ment  to  engage  Angelique  to  intercede  in  her  behalf:  but 
Angelique's  appeals  were  fruitle  -s  before  the  stern  adminis- 
trators of  Isnglish  law.  Moreo\'er,  Angelitpie,  to  be  true  to 
herself,  was  false  to  her  wicked  confederate,  She  cared  not 
to  intercede  too  much,  or  enough  to  ensure  success.  1 
her  heart  she  wished  La  ('orriveau  well  out  of  the  way,  that 
all  memory  of  the  tragedy  of  lleaumanoir  might  \)c  swcpi 
from  the  earth,  except  what  of  it  remained  hid  in  hei'  own 
bosom.  She  juggled  witii  the  appeals  ol  La  ('orri\('au, 
keeping  her  in  hopes  of  pardon  until  the  fatal  hour  came, 


624 


THE    GOLDEN    DOG. 


when  it  was  too  late  for  Lc  Corriveau  to  harm  her  by  a 
confession  of  the  murder  of  Caroline. 

The  hill  of  Levis,  where  La  Corriveau  was  gibbetted,  was 
long  remembered  in  the  traditions  of  the  Colony.  It  was 
regarded  with  superstitious  awe  by  the  habitans.  The  ghost 
of  La  C'orriveau  long  haunted,  and,  in  the  belief  of  many, 
still  haunts,  the  scene  of  her  execution.  Startling  tales, 
raising  the  hair  with  terror,  were  told  of  her  around  the 
firesides  in  winter,  when  the  snow-drifts  covered  the  fences, 
and  the  north  wind  howled  down  the  chimney  and  rattled 
the  casement  of  the  cottages  of  the  habitans ;  how,  all  night 
long,  in  the  darkness,  she  ran  after  belated  travellers, 
dragging  her  cage  at  her  heels,  and  defying  all  the  exorcisms 
of  the  Church  to  lay  her  evil  spirit ! 

Our  tale  is  now  done.  There  is  in  it  neither  poetic  nor 
human  justice.  Jkit  the  tablet  of  the  Chicn  (/'Or  still  ovei- 
looks  the  Rue  Ikiade  ;  the  lamp  of  Repentigny  burns  in  the 
ancient  chapel  of  the  l^rsulines;  the  ruins  of  Dcaumanoir 
cover  the  dust  of  Caroline  de  St.  Castin ;  and  Ame'lie  sleeps 
her  long  sleep  by  the  side  of  Heloise  de  Lotbiniere. 


THE   END. 


rm  her  by  a 

;ibbetted,  was 
lony.  It  was 
>.  The  ghost 
lief  of  many, 
tartling  tales, 
r  around  the 
d  the  fences, 
y  and  rattled 
low,  all  night 
id  travellers, 
the  exorcisms 


sr  poetic  nor 
Or  still  ovei- 
burns  in  the 
Deaumanoir 
Vme'lie  sleeps 
iere. 


"W 


